The  Library 

of  the 

Unfversitv  0f  |ff,r>o^K 


4 FATHER,  I HAVE  NOT  BEEN  GOOD  TO  YOU  ; BUT  I WILL  BE,  I WILL  BE,’  SAID 
ESTHER,  LAYING  HER  HEAD  ON  HIS  KNEE.” 


FELIX  HOLT, 
HE  RADICAL 

BY 

GEORGE  ELIOT 


Upon  the  midlands  now  the  industrious  muse  doth  fall, 
The  shires  which  we  the  heart  of  England  well  may  call. 
* * * * * * * * 
My  native  country  thou,  which  so  brave  spirits  hast  bred, 
If  there  be  virtues  yet  remaining  in  the  earth, 

Or  any  good  of  thine  thou  bred’st  into  my  birth, 

Accept  it  as  thine  own,  whilst  now  I sing  of  thee, 

Of  all  thy  later  brood  the  unworthiest  though  I be. 

— Drayton;  Polyolbion . 


NEW  YORK 

HURST  & COMPANY,  Publishers, 

122  Nassau  Street. 


\~\  YXXcXjta^cX-\  7b  Co 


FELIX  HOLT,  THE  RADICAL 


INTRODUCTION. 


Five-and-thirt y years  ago  the  glory  had  not  yet  departed 
from  the  old  coach  roads:  the  great  roadside  inns  were  still 
brilliant  with  well-polished  tankards,  the  smiling  glances  of 
pretty  barmaids,  and  the  repartees  of  jocose  hostlers;  the 
mail  still  announced  itself  by  the  merry  notes  of  the  horn  ; 
the  hedge-cutter  or  the  rick-thatcher  might  still  know  the 
exact  hour  by  the  unfailing  yet  otherwise  meteoric  appari- 
tion of  the  pea-green  Tally-ho  or  the  yellow  Independent ; 
and  elderly  gentlemen  in  pony-chaises,  quartering  nervously 
to  make  way  for  the  rolling,  swinging  swiftness,  had  not 
ceased  to  remark  that  times  were  finely  changed  since  they 
used  to  see  the  pack-horses  and  hear  the  tinkling  of  their 
bells  on  this  very  highway. 


In  those  days  there  were  pocket  boroughs,  a Birmingham 
unrepresented  in  Parliament  and  compelled  to  make  strong 
representations  out  of  it,  unrepealed  corn-laws,  three-and- 
sixpenny  letters,  a brawny  and  many-breeding  pauperism, 
and  other  departed  evils;  but  there  were  some  pleasant 
things,  too,  which  have  also  departed.  Non  omnia  grandior 
atas  quce  fugiamus  habet , says  the  wise  goddess  : you  have 
not  the  best  of  it  in  all  things,  O youngsters  ! the  elderly 
man  has  his  enviable  memories,  and  not  the  least  of  them  is 
the  memory  of  a long  journey  in  mid-spring  or  autumn  on 
the  outside  of  a stage  coach.  Posterity  may  be  shot,  like  a 
bullet  through  a tube,  by  atmospheric  pressure,  from  Win- 
chester to  Newcastle:  that  is  a fine  result  to  have  among  our 
hopes  ; but  the  slow,  old  fashioned  way  of  getting  from  one 
end  of  our  country  to  the  other  is  the  better  thing  to  have 
in  the  memory.  The  tube-journey  can  never  lend  much  to 
picture  and  narrative;  it  is  as  barren  as  an  exclamatory  O ! 
Whereas,  the  happy  outside  passenger,  seated  on  the  box 
from  the  dawn  to  the  gloaming,  gathered  enough  stories  of 
English  life,  enough  of  English  labors  in  town  and  country, 
enough  aspects  of  earth  and  sky,  to  make  episodes  for  a 
modern  Odyssey.  Suppose  only  that  his  journey  took  him 
through  that  central  plain,  watered  at  one  extremity  by  the 
Avon,  at  the  other  by  the  Trent.  As  the  morning  silvered  the 


775609 


4 


FELIX  HOLT, 


meadows  with  their  long  lines  of  bushy  willows  marking  the 
water-courses,  or  burnished  the  golden  corn-ricks  clustered 
near  the  long  roofs  of  some  midland  homestead,  he  saw  the 
full-uddered  cows  driven  from  their  pasture  to  the  early  milk- 
ing. Perhaps  it  was  the  shepherd,  head-servant  of  the  farm, 
who  drove  them,  his  sheep-dog  following  with  a heedless,  un- 
official air,  as  of  a beadle  in  undress.  The  shepherd,  with  a 
slow  and  slouching  walk,  timed  by  the  walk  of  grazing  beasts, 
moved  aside,  as  if  unwillingly,  throwing  out  a monosyllabic 
hint  to  his  cattle  ; his  glance,  accustomed  to  rest  on  things 
very  near  the  earth,  seemed  to  lift  itself  with  difficulty  to 
the  coachman.  Mail  or  stage  coach  for  him  belonged  to 
the  mysterious  distant  system  'of  things  called  “ Gover’ment,” 
which,  whatever  it  might  be,  was  no  business  of  his,  any 
more  than  the  most  outlying  nebula  or  the  coal-sacks  of  the 
southern  hemisphere:  his  solar  system  was  the  parish;  the 
master’s  temper  and  the  casualties  of  lambing-time  were  his 
region  of  storms.  He  cut  his  bread  and  bacon  with  his 
pocket-knife,  and  felt  no  bitterness  except  in  the  matter  of 
pauper  laborers  and  the  bad-luck  that  sent  contrarious  sea- 
sons and  the  sheep-rot.  He  and  his  cows  were  soon  left  be- 
hind, and  the  homestead,  too,  with  its  pond  overhung  by 
elder-trees,  its  untidy  kitchen-garden  and  cone-shaped  yew- 
tree  arbor.  But  everywhere  the  bushy  hedgerows  wasted 
the  land  with  their  straggling  beauty,  shrouded  the  grassy 
borders  of  the  pastures  with  catkined  hazels,  and  tossed 
their  long  blackberry  branches  on  the  corn-fields.  Perhaps 
they  were  white  with  May,  or  starred  with  pale  pink  dog- 
roses;  perhaps  the  urchins  were  already  nutting  among 
them,  or  gathering  the  plenteous  crabs.  It  was  worth  the 
journey  only  to  see  those  hedgerows,  the  liberal  homes  of 
unmarketable  beauty — of  the  purple  blossomed,  ruby-berried 
nightshade,  of  the  wild  convolvulus  climbing  and  spreading 
in  tendriled  strength  till  it  made  a great  curtain  of  pale- 
green  hearts  and  white  trumpets,  of  the  many-tubed  honey- 
suckle which,  in  its  most  delicate  fragrance,  hid  a charm 
more  subtle  and  penetrating  than  beauty.  Even  if  it  were 
winter,  the  hedgerows  showed  their  coral,  the  scarlet  haws, 
the  deep-crimson  hips,  with  lingering  brown  leaves  to  make 
a resting-place  for  the  jewels  of  the  hoar-frost.  Such  hedge- 
rows were  often  as  tall  as  the  laborers’  cottages  dotted  along 
the  lanes,  or  clustered  into  a small  hamlet,  their  little  dingy 
windows  telling,  like  thick-filmed  eyes,  of  nothing  but  the 
darkness  within.  The  passenger  on  the  coach-box,  bowled 


THE  RADICAL. 


5 


along  above  such  a hamlet,  saw  chiefly  the  roofs  of  it : prob- 
ably it  turned  its  back  on  the  road,  and  seemed  to  lie  away 
from  everything  but  its  own  patch  of  earth  and  sky,  away 
from  the  parish  church  bv  long  fields  and  green  lanes,  away 
from  all  intercourse  except  that  of  tramps.  If  its  face  could 
be  seen,  it  was  most  likely  dirty;  but  the  dirt  was  Protestant 
dirt,  and  the  big,  bold,  gin-breathing  tramps  were  Protestant 
tramps.  There  was  no  sign  of  superstition  near,  no  crucifix 
or  image  to  indicate  a misguided  reverence:  the  inhabitants 
were  probably  so  free  from  superstition  that  they  were  in 
much  less  awe  of  the  parson  than  of  the  overseer.  Yet  they 
were  saved  from  the  excess  of  Protestantism  by  not  knowing 
how  to  read,  and  by  the  absence  of  handlooms  and  mines  to  be 
the  pioneers  of  Dissent : they  were  kept  safely  in  th  evia  media  of 
indifference, and  could  have  registered  themselves  in  the  cen- 
sus by  a big  black  mark  as  members  of  the  Church  of  England. 

But  there  were  trim  cheerful  villages  too,  with  a neat  or 
handsome  parsonage  and  gray  church  set  in  the  midst ; there 
was  the  pleasant  tinkle  of  the  blacksmith’s  anvil,  the  patient 
cart  horses  waiting  at  his  door  ; the  basket-maker  peeling 
his  willow  wands  in  the  sunshine  ; the  wheelwright  putting 
his  last  touch  to  a blue  cart  with  red  wheels  ; here  and  there 
a cottage  with  bright  transparent  windows  showing  pots  full 
of  blooming  balsams  or  geraniums,  and  little  gardens  in 
front  all  double  daisies  or  dark  wallflowers  ; at  the  well, 
clean  and  comely  women  carrying  yoked  buckets,  and  toward 
the  free  school  small  Britons  dawdling  on,  and  handling 
their  marbles  in  the  pockets  of  unpatched  corduroys  adorned 
with  brass  buttons.  The  land  around  was  rich  and  marly, 
great  corn-stacks  stood  in  the  rick-yards — for  the  rick- 
burners  had  not  found  their  way  hither ; the  homesteads 
were  those  of  rich  farmers  who  paid  no  rent,  or  had  the  rare 
advantage  of  a lease,  and  could  afford  to  keep  the  corn  till 
prices  had  risen.  The  coach  would  be  sure  to  overtake 
some  of  them  on  their  way  to  their  outlying  fields  or  to  the 
market-town,  sitting  heavily  on  their  well-groomed  horses, 
or  weighing  down  one  side  of  an  olive-green  gig.  They 
probably  thought  of  the  coach  with  some  contempt,  as  an 
accommodation  for  people  who  had  not  their  own  gigs,  or 
who,  wanting  to  travel  to  London  and  such  distant  places, 
belonged  to  the  trading  and  less  solid  part  of  the  nation. 
The  passenger  on  the  box  could  see  that  this  was  the  district 
of  protuberant  optimists,  sure  that  old  England  was  the  best 
of  all  possible  countries,  and  that  if  there  were  any  facts 


6 


FELIX  HOLT, 


which  had  not  fallen  under  their  own  observation,  they  were 
facts  not  worth  observing  : the  district  of  clean  little  market- 
towns  without  manufactures,  of  fat  livings,  an  aristocratic 
clergy,  and  low  poor-rates.  But  as  the  day  wore  on  the 
scene  would  change  : the  land  would  begin  to  be  blackened 
with  coal-pits,  the  rattle  of  handlooms  to  be  heard  in  hamlets 
and  villages.  Here  were  powerful  men  walking  queerly 
with  knees  bent  outward  from  squatting  in  the  mine,  going 
home  to  throw  themselves  down  in  their  blackened  flannel 
and  sleep  through  the  daylight,  then  rise  and  spend  much  of 
their  high  wages  at  the  ale-house  with  their  fellows  of  the 
Benefit  Club ; here  the  pale  eager  faces  of  the  handloom- 
weavers,  men  and  women,  haggard  from  sitting  up  late  at 
night  to  finish  the  week’s  work,  hardly  begun  till  the  Wed- 
nesday. Everywhere  the  cottages  and  the  small  children 
were  dirty,  for  the  languid  mothers  gave  their  strength  to 
the  loom  ; pious  Dissenting  women,  perhaps,  who  took  life 
patiently,  and  thought  that  salvation  depended  chiefly  on 
predestination,  and  not  at  all  on  cleanliness.  The  gables  of 
Dissenting  chapels  now  made  a visible  sign  of  religion,  and 
of  a meeting-place  to  counterbalance  the  ale-house,  even  in 
the  hamlets ; but  if  a couple  of  old  termagants  were  seen 
tearing  each  other’s  caps,  it  was  a safe  conclusion  that,  if 
they  had  not  received  the  sacraments  of  the  Church,  they 
had  not  at  least  given  in  to  schismatic  rites,  and  were  free 
from  the  errors  of  Voluntaryism.  The  breath  of  the  manu- 
facturing town,  which  made  a cloudy  day  and  a red  gloom 
by  night  on  the  horizon,  diffused  itself  over  all  the  surround- 
ing country,  filling  the  air  with  eager  unrest.  Here  was  a 
population  not  convinced  that  old  England  was  as  good  as 
possible  ; here  were  multitudinous  men  and  women  aware 
that  their  religion  was  not  exactly  the  religion  of  their  rulers, 
who  might  therefore  be  better  than  they  were,  and  who,  if 
better,  might  alter  many  things  which  now  made  the  world 
perhaps  more  painful  than  it  need  be,  and  certainly  more 
sinful.  Yet  there  were  the  gray  steeples  too,  and  the  church- 
yards, with  their  grassy  mounds  and  venerable  headstones, 
sleeping  in  the  sunlight ; there  were  broad  fields  and  home- 
steads, and  fine  old  woods  covering  a rising  ground,  or 
stretching  far  by  the  roadside,  allowing  only  peeps  at  the 
park  and  mansion  which  they  shut  in  from  the  working  day 
world.  In  these  midland  districts  the  traveller  passed  rapidly 
from  one  phase  of  English  life  to  another : after  looking 
down  on  a village  dingy  with  coal-dust,  noisy  with  the  shak- 


THE  RADICAL. 


7 


ing  of  looms,  he  might  skirt  a parish  all  of  fields,  high  hedges, 
and  deep  rutted  lanes  ; after  the  coach  had  rattled  over  the 
pavement  of  a manufacturing  town,  the  scenes  of  riots  and 
trades-union  meetings,  it  would  take  him  in  another  ten 
minutes  into  a rural  region,  where  the  neighborhood  of  the 
town  was  only  felt  in  the  advantages  of  a near  market  for 
corn,  cheese,  and  hay,  and  where  men  with  a considerable 
banking  account  were  accustomed  to  say  that  “they  never 
meddled  with  politics  themselves.”  The  busy  scenes  of  the 
shuttle  and  the  wheel,  of  the  roaring  furnace,  of  the  shaft 
and  the  pulley,  seemed  to  make  but  crowded  nests  in  the 
midst  of  the  large-spaced,  slow-moving  life  of  homesteads 
and  far-away  cottages  and  oak-sheltered  parks.  Looking  at 
the  dwellings  scattered  amongst  the  woody  flats  and  the 
plowed  uplands,  under  the  low  gray  sky  which  overhung 
them  with  an  unchanging  stillness  as  if  Time  itself  were 
pausing,  it  was  easy  for  the  traveller  to  conceive  that  town 
and  country  had  no  pulse  in  common,  except  where  the 
handlooms  made  a far-reaching  straggling  fringe  about  the 
great  centres  of  manufacture  ; that  till  the  agitation  about 
the  Catholics  in  ’29,  rural  Englishmen  had  hardly  known 
more  of  Catholics  than  of  the  fossil  mammals  ; and  that 
their  notion  of  Reform  was  a confused  combination  of  rick- 
burners,  trades-unions,  Nottingham  riots,  and  in  general 
whatever  required  the  calling  out  of  the  yeomanry.  It  was 
still  easier  to  see  that,  for  the  most  part,  they  resisted  the 
rotation  of  crops  and  stood  by  their  fallows  : and  the  coach- 
man would  perhaps  tell  how  in  one  parish  an  innovating 
farmer,  who  talked  of  Sir  Humphrey  Davy,  had  been  fairly 
driven  out  by  popular  dislike,  as  if  he  had  been  a confounded 
Radical ; and  how,  the  parson  having  one  Sunday  preached 
from  the  words,  “Break  up  your  fallow-ground,”  the  people 
thought  he  had  made  the  text  out  of  his  own  head,  other- 
wise it  would  never  have  come  “ so  pat  ” on  a matter  of 
business  ; but  when  they  found  it  in  the  Bible  at  home,  some 
said  it  was  an  argument  for  fallows  (else  why  should  the 
Bible  mention  fallows  ?),  but  a few  of  the  weaker  sort  were 
shaken,  and  thought  it  was  an  argument  that  fallows  should 
be  done  away  with,  else  the  Bible  would  have  said,  “ Let 
your  fallows  lie  ” ; and  the  next  morning  the  parson  had  a 
stroke  of  apoplexy,  which,  as  coincident  with  a dispute  about 
fallow*,  so  set  the  parish  against  the  innovating  farmer  and 
the  rotation  of  crops,  that  he  could  stand  his  ground  no 
longer,  and  transferred  his  lease. 


8 


FELIX  HOLT, 


The  coachman  was  an  excellent  travelling  companion  and 
commentator  on  the  landscape:  he  could  tell  the  names  of 
sites  and  persons,  and  explain  the  meaning  of  groups,  as 
well  as  the  shade  of  Virgil  in  a more  memorable  journey  ; 
he  had  as  many  stories  about  parishes,  and  the  men  and 
women  in  them,  as  the  Wanderer  in  the  “ Excursion,”  only 
his  style  was  different.  His  view  of  life  had  originally  been 
genial,  such  as  became  a man  who  was  well  warmed  within 
and  without,  and  held  a position  of  easy,  undisputed  author- 
ity ; but  the  recent  initiation  of  railways  had  embittered  him  : 
he  now,  as  in  a perpetual  vision,  saw  the  ruined  country 
strewn  with  shattered  limbs,  and  regarded  Mr.  Huskisson’s 
death  as  a proof  of  God’s  anger  against  Stephenson.  “Why, 
every  inn  on  the  road  would  be  shut  up  ! ” and  at  that  word 
the  coachman  looked  before  him  with  the  blank  gaze  of  one 
who  had  driven  his  coach  to  the  outermost  edge  of  the  uni- 
verse, and  saw  his  leaders  plunging  into  the  abyss.  Still  he 
would  soon  relapse  from  the  high  prophetic  strain  to  the 
familiar  one  of  narrative.  He  knew  whose  the  land  was 
wherever  he  drove ; what  noblemen  had  half-ruined  them- 
selves by  gambling;  who  made  handsome  returns  of  rent  ; 
and  who  was  at  daggers-drawn  with  his  eldest  son.  He  per- 
haps remembered  the  fathers  of  actual  baronets,  and  knew 
stories  of  their  extravagant  or  stingy  housekeeping  ; whom 
they  had  married,  whom  they  had  horsewhipped,  whether 
they  were  particular  about  preserving  their  game,  and  whether 
they  had  had  much  to  do  with  canal  companies.  About  any 
actual  landed  proprietor  he  could  also  tell  whether  he  was  a 
Reformer  or  an  Anti-Reformer.  That  was  a distinction 
which  had  “turned  up  ” in  latter  times,  and  along  with  it 
the  paradox,  very  puzzling  to  the  coachman’s  mind,  that 
there  were  men  of  old  family  and  large  estate  who  voted  for 
the  Bill.  He  did  not  grapple  with  the  paradox  ; he  let  it 
pass,  with  all  the  discreetness  of  an  experienced  theologian 
or  learned  scholiast,  preferring  to  point  his  whip  at  some  ob- 
ject which  could  raise  no  questions. 

No  such  paradox  troubled  our  coachman  when,  leaving 
the  town  of  Treby  Magna  behind  him,  he  drove  between  the 
hedges  for  a mile  or  so,  crossed  the  queer  long  bridge  over 
the  river  Lapp,  and  then  put  his  horses  to  a swift  gallop  up 
the  hill  by  the  low-nestled  village  of  Little  Treby,  till  they 
were  on  the  fine  level  road,  skirted  on  one  side  by  grand 
larches,  oaks,  and  wych  elms,  which  sometimes  opened  so  far 
as  to  let  the  traveller  see  that  there  was  a park  behind  them. 


THE  RADICAL. 


9 


How  many  times  in  the  year,  as  the  coach  rolled  past  the 
neglected-looking  lodges  which  interrupted  the  screen  of  trees, 
and  showed  the  river  winding  through  a finely-timbered 
park,  had  the  coachman  answered  the  same  questions,  or 
told  the  same  things  without  being  questioned  ! That  ? — 
oh,  that  was  Transome  Court,  a place  there  had  been  a fine 
sight  of  lawsuits  about.  Generations  back,  the  heir  of  the 
Transome  name  had  somehow  bargained  away  the  estate, 
and  it  fell  to  the  Durfeys,  very  distant  connections,  who  only 
called  themselves  Transomes  because  they  had  got  the  estate. 
But  the  Durfeys’  claim  had  been  disputed  over  and  over 
again  ; and  the  coachman,  if  he  had  been  asked,  would  have 
said,  though  he  might  have  to  fall  down  dead  the  next  min- 
ute, that  property  didn’t  always  get  into  the  right  hands. 
However,  the  lawyers  had  found  their  luck* in  it ; and  people 
who  inherited  estates  that  were  lawed  -about  often  lived  in 
them  as  poorly  as  a mouse  in  a hollow  cheese  ; and,  by  what 
he  could  make  out,  that  had  been  the  way  with  these  present 
Durfeys,  or  Transomes,  as  they  called  themselves.  As  for 
Mr.  Transome,  he  was  as  poor,  half-witted  a fellow  as  you’d 
wish  to  see  ; but  she  was  master,  had  come  of  a high  family, 
and  had  a spirit — you  might  see  it  in  her  eye  and  the  way 
she  sat  her  horse.  Forty  years  ago,  when  she  came  into  this 
country,  they  said  she  was  a pictur’ ; but  her  family  was 
poor,  and  so  she  took  up  with  a hatchet-faced  fellow  like  this 
Transome.  And  the  eldest  son  had  been  just  such  another 
as  his  father,  only  worse — a wild  sort  of  half-natural,  who 
got  into  bad  company.  They  said  his  mother  hated  him  and 
wished  him  dead  ; for  she’d  got  another  son,  quite  of  a dif- 
ferent cut,  who  had  gone  to  foreign  parts  when  he  was  a 
youngster,  and  she  wanted  her  favorite  to  be  heir.  But  heir 
or  no  heir,  Lawyer  Jermyn  had  had  his  picking  out  of  the 
estate.  Not  a door  in  his  big  house  but  what  was  the  finest 
polished  oak,  all  got  off  the  Transome  estate.  If  anybody 
liked  to  believe  he  paid  for  it,  they  were  welcome.  How- 
ever, Lawyer  Jermyn  had  sat  on  that  box-seat  many  and 
many  a time.  He  had  made  the  wills  of  most  people  there- 
about. The  coachman  would  not  say  that  Lawyer  Jermyn  was 
not  the  man  he  would  choose  to  make  his  own  will  some  day. 
It  was  not  so  well  for  a lawyer  to  be  over-honest,  else  he 
might  not  be  up  to  other  people’s  tricks.  And  as  for  the 
Transome  business,  there  had  been  ins  and  outs  in  time 
gone  by,  so  that  you  couldn’t  look  into  it  straight  backward. 
At  this  Mr.  Sampson  (everybody  in  North  Loamshire  knew 


IO  FELIX  HOLT, 

Sampson's  coach)  would  screw  his  features  into  a grimace 
expressive  of  entire  neutrality,  and  appear  to  aim  his  whip 
at  a particular  spot  on  the  horse’s  flank.  If  the  passenger 
was  curious  for  further  knowledge  concerning  the  Transome 
affairs,  Sampson  would  shake  his  head  and  say  there  had 
been  fine  stories  in  his  time  ; but  he  never  condescended  to 
state  what  the  stories  were.  Some  attributed  this  reticence 
to  a wise  incredulity,  others  to  a want  of  memory,  others  to 
simple  ignorance.  But  at  least  Sampson  was  right  in  spying 
that  there  had  been  fine  stories — meaning,  ironically,  stories 
not  altogether  creditable  to  the  parties  concerned. 

And  such  stories  often  come  to  be  fine  in  a sense  that  is 
not  ironical.  For  there  is  seldom  any  wrong-doing  which 
does  not  carry  along  with  it  some  downfall  of  blindly-climb- 
ing hopes,  some  hard  entail  of  suffering,  some  quickly- 
satiated  desire  that  survives,  with  the  life  in  death  of  old 
paralytic  vice,  to  see  itself  cursed  by  its  woeful  progeny — 
some  tragic  mark  of  kinship  in  the  one  brief  life  to  the  far- 
stretching  life  that  went  before,  and  to  the  life  that  is  to 
come  after,  such  as  has  raised  the  pity  and  terror  of  men 
ever  since  they  began  to  discern  between  will  and  destiny. 
But  these  things  are  often  unknown  to  the  world ; for  there 
is  much  pain  that  is  quite  noiseless ; and  vibrations  that 
make  human  agonies  are  often  a mere  whisper  in  the  roar  of 
hurrying  existence.  There  are  glances  of  hatred  that  stab 
and  raise  no  cry  of  murder;  robberies  that  leave  man  or 
woman  forever  beggared  of  peace  and  joy,  yet  kept  secret 
by  the  sufferer — committed  to  no  sound  except  that  of  low 
moans  in  the  night,  seen  in  no  writing  except  that  made  on 
the  face  by  the  slow  months  of  suppressed  anguish  and  early 
morning  tears.  Many  an  inherited  sorrow  that  has  marred 
a life  has  been  breathed  into  no  human  ear. 

The  poets  have  told  us  of  a dolorous  enchanted  forest  in 
the  under  world.  The  thorn-bushes  there,  and  the  thick- 
barked  stems,  have  human  histories  hidden  in  them  ; the 
power  of  unuttered  cries  dwells  in  the  passionless-seeming 
branches,  and  the  red  warm  blood  is  darkly  feeding  the 
■quivering  nerves  of  a sleepless  memory  that  watches  through 
all  dreams.  These  things  are  a parable, 


THE  RADICAL. 


II 


CHAPTER  I. 

He  left  me  when  the  down  upon  his  lip 
Lay  like  the  shadow  of  a hovering  kiss. 

“ Beautiful  mother,  do  not  grieve,”  he  said  ; 

“ I will  be  great,  and  build  our  fortunes  high. 

And  you  shall  wear  the  longest  train  at  court, 

And  look  so  queenly,  all  the  lords  shall  say, 

1 She  is  a royal  changeling  : there  is  some  crown 

Lacks  the  right  head,  since  hers  wears  naught  but  braids.’  ” 

O,  he  is  coming  now — but  I am  gray  : 

And  he 

On  the  first  of  September,  in  the  memorable  year  1832, 
some  one  was  expected  at  Transome  Court.  As  early  as  two 
o’clock  in  the  afternoon  the  aged  lodge-keeper  had  opened 
the  heavy  gate,  green  as  the  tree  trunks  were  green  with 
nature’s  powdery  paint,  deposited  year  after  year.  Already 
in  the  village  of  Little  Treby,  which  lay  on  the  side  of  a steep 
hill  not  far  off  the  lodge-gates,  the  elder  matrons  sat  in  their 
best  gowns  at  the  few  cottage  doors  bordering  the  road,  that 
they  might  be  ready  to  get  up  and  make  their  courtesy  when  a 
travelling  carriage  should  come  in  sight ; and  beyond  the  vil- 
lage several  small  boys  were  stationed  on  the  look-out,  in- 
tending to  run  a race  to  the  barn-like  old  church,  where  the 
sexton  waited  in  the  belfry  ready  to  set  the  one  bell  in  joy- 
ful agitation  just  at  the  right  moment. 

The  old  lodge-keeper  had  opened  the  gate  and  left  it  in  the 
charge  of  his  lame  wife,  because  he  was  wanted  at  the  Court 
to  sweep  away  the  leaves,  and  perhaps  to  help  in  the  stables. 
For  though  Transome  Court  was  a large  mansion,  built  in 
the  fashion  of  Queen  Anne’s  time,  with  a park  and  grounds 
as  fine  as  any  to  be  seen  in  Loamshire,  there  were  very  few 
servants'  about  it.  Especially,  it  seemed,  there  must  be  a 
lack  of  gardeners  ; for,  except  on  the  terrace  surrounded 
with  a stone  parapet  in  front  of  the  house,  where  there  was  a 
parterre,  kept  with  some  neatness,  grass  had  spread  itself 
over  the  gravel  walks,  and  over  all  the  low  mounds  once 
carefully  cut  as  black  beds  for  the  shrubs  and  larger  plants. 
Many  of  the  windows  had  the  shutters  closed,  and  under  the 
grand  Scotch  fir  that  stooped  toward  one  corner,  the  brown 
fir-needles  of  many  years  lay  in  a small  stone  balcony  in 
front  of  two  such  darkened  windows.  All  round,  both  near 
and  far,  there  were  grand  trees,  motionless  in  the  still  sun- 
shine, and,  like  all  large  motionless  things, seemed  to  add  to  the 
stillness.  Here  and  there  a leaf  fluttered  down  ; petals  fell 
in  a silent  shower  ; a heavy  moth  fluttered  by,  and,  when  it 
settled,  seemed  to  fall  wearily  ; the  tiny  birds  alighted  on 
the  walks,  and  hopped  about  in  perfect  tranquillity  ; even  a 


12 


FELIX  HOLT, 


stray  rabbit  sat  nibbling  a leaf  that  was  to  its  liking,  in  the 
middle  of  a grassy  space,  with  an  air  that  seemed  quite  im- 
pudent in  so  timid  a creature.  No  sound  was  to  be  heard 
louder  than  a sleepy  hum,  and  the  soft  monotony  of  running 
water  hurrying  on  to  the  river  that  divided  the  park. 
Standing  on  the  south  or  east  side  of  the  house,  you  would 
never  have  guessed  that  an  arrival  was  expected. 

But  on  the  west  side,  where  the  carriage  entrance  was,  the 
gates  under  the  stone  archway  were  thrown  open  ; and  so  was 
the  double  door  of  the  entrance-hall,  letting  in  the  warm 
light  on  the  scagliola  pillars,  the  marble  statues,  and  the 
broad  stone  staircase,  with  its  matting  worn  into  large  holes. 
And,  stronger  sign  of  expectation  than  all,  from  one  of  the 
doors  that  surrounded  the  entrance-hall,  there  came  forth 
from  time  to  time  a lady,  who  walked  lightly  over  the  polish- 
ed stone  floor,  and  stood  on  the  doorsteps  and  watched  and 
listened.  She  walked  lightly,  for  her  figure  was  slim  and 
finely  formed,  though  she  was  between  fifty  and  sixty.  She 
was  a tall,  proud -looking  woman,  with  abundant. gray  hair, 
dark  eyes  and  eyebrows,  and  a somewhat  eagle-like  yet  not 
unfeminine  face.  Her  tight-fitting  black  dress  was  much 
worn  ; the  fine  lace  of  her  cuffs  and  collar,  and  of  the  small 
veil  that  fell  backward  over  her  high  comb,  was  visibly 
mended  ; but  rare  jewels  flashed  on  her  hands,  which  lay  on 
her  folded  black-clad  arms  like  finely-cut  onyx  cameos. 

Meantime  Mrs.  Transome  went  to  the  door-steps,  watch- 
ing and  listening  in  vain.  Each  time  she  returned  to  the 
same  room  ; it  was  a moderate-sized  comfortable  room,  with 
low  ebony  bookshelves  round  it,  and  it  formed  an  ante-room 
to  a large  library,  of  which  a glimpse  could  be  seen  through 
an  open  doorway,  partly  obstructed  by  a heavy  tapestry  cur- 
tain drawn  on  one  side.  There  was  a great  deal  of  tar- 
nished gilding  and  dinginess  on  the  walls  and  furniture  of  this 
smaller  room,  but  the  pictures  above  the  bookcases  were  all 
of  a cheerful  kind  : portraits  in  pastel  of  pearly-skinned 
ladies  with  hair-powder,  blue  ribbons,  and  low  bodices  ; a 
splendid  portrait  in  oils  of  a Transome  in  the  gorgeous  dress 
of  the  Restoration  ; another  of  a Transome  in  his  boyhood, 
with  his  hand  on  the  neck  of  a small  pony  ; and  a large 
Flemish  battle-piece,  where  war  seemed  only  a picturesque 
blue-and-red  accident  in  a vast  sunny  expanse  of  plain  and 
sky.  Probably  such  cheerful  pictures  had  been  chosen  be- 
cause this  was  Mrs.  Transome’s  usual  sitting-room  : it  was 
certainly  for  this  reason  that,  near  the  chair  in  which  she  seated 


THE  RADICAL* 


*3 


herself  each  time  she  re-entered,  there  hung  a picture  of  a 
youthful  face  which  bore  a strong  resemblance  to  her  own  : 
a beardless  but  masculine  face,  with  rich  brown  hair  hang- 
ing low  on  the  forehead,  and  undulating  beside  each  cheek 
down  to  the  loose  white  cravat.  Near  this  same  chair  were 
her  writing  table,  with  vellum-covered  account-books  on  it, 
the  cabinet  in  which  she  kept  her  neatly-arranged  drugs,  her 
basket  for  her  embroidery,  a folio  volume  of  architectural 
engravings  from  which  she  took  her  embroidery-patterns,  a 
number  of  the  “ North  Loamshire  Herald/’  and  the  cushion 
for  her  fat  Blenheim,  which  was  too  old  and  sleepy  to  notice 
its  mistress’s  restlessness.  For,  just  now, Mrs. Transome  could 
not  abridge  the  sunny  tedium  of  the  day  by  the  feeble  interest 
of  her  usual  indoor  occupations.  Her  consciousness  was  ab- 
sorbed by  memories  and  prospects,  and  except  that  she  walked 
to  the  entrance-door  to  look  out,  she  sat  motionless  with  folded 
arms,  involuntarily  from  time  to  time  turning  toward  the  por- 
trait close  by  her,  and  as  often,  when  its  young  brown  eyes 
met  hers,  turning  away  again  with  self-checking  resolution. 

At  last,  prompted  by  some  sudden  thought  or  by  some 
sound,  she  rose  and  went  hastily  beyond  the  tapestry  curtain 
into  the  library.  She  paused  near  the  door  without  speak- 
ing : apparently  she  only  wished  to  see  that  no  harm  was 
being  done.  A man  nearer  seventy  than  sixty  was  in  the 
act  of  ranging  on  a large  library-table  a series  of  shallow 
drawers,  some  of  them  containing  dried  insects,  others 
mineralogical  specimens.  His  pale  mild  eyes,  receding 
lower  jaw,  and  slight  frame,  could  never  have  expressed 
much  vigor,  either  bodily  or  mental ; but  he  had  now  the 
unevenness  of  gait  and  feebleness  of  gesture  which  tell  of  a 
past  paralytic  seizure.  His  threadbare  clothes  were 
thoroughly  brushed:  his  soft  white  hair  was  carefully  parted 
and  arranged  : he  was  not  a neglected-looking  old  man  ; 
and  at  his  side  a fine  black  retriever,  also  old,  sat  on  its 
haunches,  and  watched  him  as  he  went  to  and  fro.  But 
when  Mrs.  Transome  appeared  within  the  door-way,  her 
husband  paused  in  his  work  and  shrank  like  a timid  animal 
looked  at  in  a cage  where  flight  was  impossible.  He  was 
conscious  of  a troublesome  intention,  for  which  he  had  been 
rebuked  before — that  of  disturbing  all  his  specimens  with  a 
view  to  a new  arrangement. 

After  an  interval,  in  which  his  wife  stood  perfectly  still, 
observing  him,  he  began  to  put  pack  the  drawers  in  their 
places  in  the  row  of  cabinets  which  extended  under  the  book- 


14 


FELIX  HOLT, 


shelves  at  one  end  of  the  library.  When  they  were  all  put 
back  and  closed,  Mrs.  Transome  turned  away,  and  the 
frightened  old  man  seated  himself  with  Nimrod  the  retriever 
on  an  ottoman.  Peeping  at  him  again,  a few  minutes  after, 
she  saw  that  he  had  his  arm  round  Nimrod’s  neck,  and  was 
uttering  his  thoughts  to  the  dog  in  a loud  whisper,  as  little 
children  do  to  any  object  near  them  when  they  believe 
themselves  unwatched. 

At  last  the  sound  of  the  church-bell  reached  Mrs.  Tran- 
some’s  ear,  and  she  knew  that  before  long  the  sound  of 
wheels  must  be  within  hearing  ; but  she  did  not  at  once 
start  up  and  walk  to  the  entrance-door.  She  sat  still, 
quivering  and  listening  ; her  lips  became  pale,  her  hands 
were  cold  and  trembling.  Was  her  son  really  coming  ? 
She  was  far  beyond  fifty  ; and  since  her  early  gladness  in 
this  best-loved  boy,  the  harvest  of  her  life  had  been  scanty. 
Could  it  be  that  now — when  her  hair  was  gray,  when  sight 
had  become  one  of  the  day’s  fatigues,  when  her  young 
accomplishments  seemed  almost  ludicrous,  like  the  tone  of 
her  first  harpsichord  and  the  words  of  the  song  long  browned  •. 
with  age — she  was  going  to  reap  an  assured  joy  ? to  feel 
that  the  doubtful  deeds  of  her  life  were  justified  by  the 
result,  since  a kind  Providence  had  sanctioned  them? — to 
be  no  longer  tacitly  pitied  by  her  neighbors  for  her  lack  of 
money,  her  imbecile  husband,  her  graceless  eldest-born, 
and  the  loneliness  of  her  life  ; but  to  have  at  her  side  a rich, 
clever,  possibly  a tender,  son?  Yes;  but  there  were  the 
fifteen  years  of  separation,  and  all  that  had  happened  in  that 
long  time  to  throw  her  into  the  background  of  her  son’s 
memory  and  affection.  And  yet — did  not  men  sometimes 
become  more  filial  in  their  feeling  when  experience  had 
mellowed  them,  and  they  had  themselves  become  fathers  ? 
Still,  if  Mrs.  Transome  had  expected  only  her  *son,  she 
would  have  trembled  less  ; she  expected  a little  grandson 
also:  and  there  were  reasons  why  she  had  not  been  enraptured 
when  her  son  had  written  to  her  only  when  he  was  on 
the  eve  of  returning  that  he  already  had  an  heir  born  to  him. 

But  the  facts  must  be  accepted  as  they  stood,  and,  after 
all,  the  chief  thing  was  to  have  her  son  back  again.  Such 
pride,  such  affection,  such  hopes  as  she  cherished  in  this 
fifty-sixth  year  of  her  life,  must  find  their  gratification  in  him 
— or  nowhere.  Once  more  she  glanced  at  the  portrait.  The 
young  brown  eyes  seemed  to  dwell  on  her  pleasantly  ; but, 
turning  from  it  with  a sort  of  impatience,  and  saying  aloud, 


THE  RADICAL. 


IS 


“ Of  course  lie-will  be  altered  ! ” she  rose  almost  with  diffi- 
culty, and  walked  more  slowly  than  before  across  the  hall  to 
the  entrance-door. 

Already  the  sound  of  wheels  was  loud  upon  the  gravel. 
The  momentary  surprise  of  seeing  that  it  was  only  a post- 
chaise,  without  a servant  or  much  luggage,  that  was  passing 
under  the  stone  archway  and  then  wheeling  round  against 
the  flight  of  stone  steps,  was  at  once  merged  in  the  sense 
that  there  was  a dark  face  under  a red  travelling-cap  looking 
at  her  from  the  window.  She  saw  nothing  else  ; she  was  not 
even  conscious  that  the  small  group  of  her  own  servants  had 
mustered,  or  that  old  Hickes  the  butler  had  come  forward  to 
open  the  chaise  door.  She  heard  herself  called  “ Mother  !” 
and  felt  a light  kiss  on  each  cheek  ; but  stronger  than  all 
that  sensation  was  the  consciousness  which  no  previous 
thought  could  prepare  her  for,  that  this  son  who  had  come 
back  to  her  was  a stranger.  Three  minutes  before,  she  had 
fancied  that,  in  spite  of  all  changes  wrought  by  fifteen  years 
of  separation,  she  should  clasp  her  son  again  as  she  had  done 
at  their  parting  ; but  in  the  moment  when  their  eyes  met, 
the  sense  of  strangeness  came  upon  her  like  a terror.  It  was 
not  hard  to  understand  that  she  was  agitated,  and  the  son 
led  her  across  the  hall  to  the  sitting-room,  closing  the  door 
behind  them.  Then  he  turned  toward  her  and  said,  smiling — 

“ You  would  not  have  known  me,  eh,  mother  ?” 

It  was  perhaps  the  truth.  If  she  had  seen  him  in  a crowd, 
she  might  have  looked  at  him  without  recognition — not,  how- 
ever, without  startled  wonder;  for  though  the  likeness  to  her- 
self was  no  longer  striking,  the  years  had  overlaid  it  with  an- 
other likeness  which  would  have  arrested  her.  Before  she 
answered  him,  his  eyes,  with  a keen  restlessness,  as  unlike 
as  possible  to  the  lingering  gaze  of  the  portrait,  had  travelled 
quickly  over  the  room,  alighting  on  her  as  she  said— 

“ Everything  is  changed,  Harold.  I am  an  old  woman, 
you  see.” 

“ But  straighter  and  more  upright  than  some  of  the  young 
ones!”  said  Harold;  inwardly,  however,  feeling  that  age 
had  made  his  mother’s  face  very  anxious  and  eager.  “ The 
old  women  at  Smyrna  are  like  sacks.  You’ve  not  got 
clumsy  and  shapeless.  How  is  it  I have  the  trick  of  getting 
fat  ? ” (Here  Harold  lifted  his  arm  and  spread  out^his  plump 
hand.)  “ I remember  my  father  was  as  thin  as  a herring. 
How  is  my  father  ? Where  is  he  ? ” 

Mrs.  Transome  just  pointed  to  the  curtained  doorway,  and 


16  ^ 


FELIX  HOLT, 


let  her  son  pass  through  it  alone.  She  was  not  given  to 
tears  : but  now,  under  the  pressure  of  emotion  that  could 
find  no  other  vent,  they  burst  forth.  She  took  care  that 
they  should  be  silent  tears,  and  before  Harold  came  out  of 
the  library  again  they  were  dried.  Mrs.  Transome  had  not 
the  feminine  tendency  to  seek  influence  through  pathos  ; she 
had  been  used  to  rule  in  virtue  of  acknowledged  superiority. 
The  consciousness  that  she  had  to  make  her  son’s  acquaint- 
ance, and  that  her  knowledge  of  the  youth  of  nineteen  might 
help  her  little  in  interpreting  the  man  of  thirty- four,  had 
fallen  like  lead  on  her  soul  ; but  in  this  new  acquaintance 
of  theirs  she  cared  especially  that  her  son,  who  had  seen  a 
strange  world,  should  feel  that  he  was  come  home  to  a 
mother  who  was  to  be  consulted  on  all  things,  and  who  could 
supply  his  lack  of  the  local  experience  necessary  to  an  Eng- 
lish landholder.  Her  part  in  life  had  been  that  of  the  clever 
sinner,  and  she  was  equipped  with  the  views,  the  reasons,  and 
the  habits  which  belonged  to  that  character  ; life  would  have 
little  meaning  for  her  if  she  were  to  be  gently  thrust  aside  as 
a harmless  elderly  woman.  And  besides,  there  were  secrets 
which  her  son  must  never  know.  So,  by  the  time  Harold 
came  from  the  library  again,  the  traces  of  tears  were  not  dis- 
cernible, except  to  a very  careful  observer.  And  he  did  not 
observe  his  mother  carefully  ; his  eyes  only  glanced  at  her  on 
their  way  to  the  North  Loamshire  Herald , lying  on  the  table 
near  her,  which  he  took  up  with  his  left  hand,  as  he  said — 

“ Gad  ! what  a wreck  poor  father  is  ! Paralysis,  eh  ? 
Terribly  shrunk  and  shaken — crawls  about  among  his  books 
and  beetles  as  usual,  though.  Well,  it’s  a slow  and  easy 
death.  But  he’s  not  much  over  sixty-five,  is  he  ? ” 

“ Sixty-seven,  counting  by  birthdays  ; but  your  father  was 
born  old,  I think,”  said  Mrs.  Transome,  a little  flushed  with 
the  determination  not  to  show  any  unasked  for  feeling.  Her  son 
did  not  notice  her.  All  the  time  he  had  been  speaking  his 
eyes  had  been  running  down  the  columns  of  the  newspaper. 

“ But  your  little  boy,  Harold — where  is  he  ? How  is  it  he 
has  not  come  with  you  ? ” 

“ Oh,  I left  him  behind,  in  town,”  said  Harold,  still  look- 
ing at  the  paper.  “ My  man  Dominic  will  bring  him,  with 
the  rest  of  the  luggage.  Ah,  I see  it  is  young  Debarry,  and 
not  my  old  friend  Sir  Maximus,  who  is  offering  himself  as 
candidate  for  North  Loamshire.” 

“ Yes.  You  did  not  answer  me  when  I wrote  to  you  to 
London  about  your  standing.  There  is  no  other  Tory  can- 


THE  RADICAL.  tj 

didate  spoken  of,  and  you  would  have  all  the  Debarry 
interest.,, 

“ I hardly  think  that,”  said  Harold,  significantly. 

“ Why  ? Jermyn  says  a Tory  candidate  can  never  be  got 
in  without  it.” 

“ But  I shall  not  be  a Tory  candidate.” 

Mrs.  Transome  felt  something  like  an  electric  shock. 

“ What  then  ? ” she  said,  almost  sharply.  “ You  will  not 
call  yourself  a Whig  ? ” 

“ God  forbid  ! I’m  a Radical.” 

Mrs.  Transome’s  limbs  tottered  ; she  sank  into  a chair. 
Here  was  a distinct  confirmation  of  the  vague  but  strong 
feeling  that  her  son  was  a stranger  to  her.  Here  was  a 
revelation  to  which  it  seemed  almost  as  impossible  to  adjust 
her  hopes  and  notions  of  a dignified  life  as  if  her  son  had 
said  that  he  had  been  converted  to  Mahometanism  at  Smyrna, 
and  had  four  wives,  instead  of  one  son,  shortly  to  arrive 
under  the  care  of  Dominic.  For  the  moment  she  had 
a sickening  feeling  that  it  was  of  no  use  that  the  long-delayed 
good  fortune  had  come  at  last — all  of  no  use  though  the  un- 
loved Durfey  was  dead  and  buried,  and  though  Harold  had 
come  home  with  plenty  of  money.  There  were  rich  Radi- 
cals, she  was  aware,  as  there  were  rich  Jews  and  Dissenters, 
but  she  had  never  thought  of  them  as  county  people.  Sir 
Francis  Burdett  had  been  generally  regarded  as  a madman. 
It  was  better  to  ask  no  questions,  but  silently  to  prepare  her- 
self for  anything  else  there  might  be  to  come. 

“ Will  you  go  to  your  rooms,  Harold,  and  see  if  there  is 
anything  you  would  like  to  have  altered  ?” 

“ Yes,  let  us  go,”  said  Harold,  throwing  down  the  news- 
paper, inwhich  he  had  been  rapidly  reading  almost  every  adver- 
tisement while  his  mother  had  been  going  through  her  sharp 
inward  struggle.  “Uncle  Lingon  is  on  the  bench  still,  I 
see,”  he  went  on,  as  he  followed  her  across  the  hall ; “is  he 
at  home — will  he  be  here  this  evening?  ” 

“ He  says  you  must  go  to  the  rectory  when  you  want  to 
see  him.  You  must  remember  you  have  come  back  to  a 
family  with  old-fashioned  notions.  Your  uncle  thought  I 
ought  to  have  you  to  myself  in  the  first  hour  or  two.  He 
remembered  that  I had  not  seen  my  son  for  fifteen 
years.” 

“ Ah,  by  Jove  ! fifteen  years — so  it  is  ! ” said  Harold, 
taking  his  mother’s  hand  and  drawing  it  under  his  arm  ; for 
he  had  perceived  that  her  words  were  charged  with  an  in- 


j8 


FELIX  HOLT, 


tention.  “ And  you  are  as  straight  as  an  arrow  still  ; you 
will  carry  the  shawls  I have  brought  you  as  well  as  ever.” 
They  walked  up  the  broad  stone  steps  together  in  silence. 
Under  the  shock  of  discovering  her  son’s  Radicalism,  Mrs. 
Transome  had  no  impulse  to  say  one  thing  rather  than  an- 
other ; as  in  a man  who  had  just  been  branded  on  the  fore- 
head all  wonted  motives  would  be  uprooted.  Harold,  on 
his  side,  had  no  wish  opposed  to  filial  kindness,  but  his  busy 
thoughts  were  determined  by  habits  which  had  no  reference 
to  any  woman’s  feelings;  and  even  if  he  could  have  conceived 
what  his  mother’s  feeling  was,  his  mind,  after  that  momentary 
arrest,  would  have  darted  forward  on  its  usual  course. 

4 I have  given  you  the  south  rooms,  Harold,”  said  Mrs. 
Transome,  as  they  passed  along  a corridor  lit  from  above 
and  lined  with  old  family  pictures.  “ I thought  they  would 
suit  you  best,  as  they  all  open  into  each  other,  and  this  mid- 
dle one  will  make  a pleasant  sitting-room  for  you.” 

“Gad  ! the  furniture  is  in  a bad  state,”  said  Harold,  glancing 
around  at  the  middle  room  which  they  had  just  entered  ; 
“ the  moths  seem  to  have  got  into  the  carpets  and  hangings.” 
“ I had  no  choice  except  moths  or  tenants  who  would 
pay  rent,”  said  Mrs.  Transome.  “ We  have  been  too  poor 
to  keep  servants  for  uninhabited  rooms.” 

“ What ! you’ve  been  rather  pinched,  eh  ? ” 

“You  find  us  living  as  we  have  been  living  these  twelve 
years.” 

“ Ah,  you've  had  Durfey’s  debts  as  well  as  the  lawsuits — 
confound  them  ! It  will  make  a hole  in  sixty  thousand 
pounds  to  pay  off  the  mortgages.  However,  he’s  gone  now, 
poor  fellow  ; and  I suppose  I should  have  spent  more  in 
buying  an  English  estate  some  time  or  other.  I always 
meant  to  be  an  Englishman,  and  thrash  a lord  or  two  who 
thrashed  me  at  Eton.” 

“ I hardly  thought  you  could  have  meant  that,  Harold, 
when  I found  you  had  married  a foreign  wife.” 

“ Would  you  have  had  me  wait  for  a consumptive  lacka- 
daisical Englishwoman,  who  would  have  hung  #11  her  rela- 
tions around  my  neck  ? I hate  English  wives  ; they  want 
to  give  their  opinion  about  everything.  They  interfere  with 
a man’s  life.  I shall  not  marry  again.” 

Mrs.  Transome  bit  her  lip,  and  turned  away  to  draw  up  a 
blind.  She  would  not  reply  to  words  which  showed  how 
completely  any  conception  of  herself  and  her  feelings  was 
excluded  from  her  son’s  inward  world. 


THE  RADICAL. 


19 


As  she  turned  round  again  she  said,  “ I suppose  you  have 
been  used  to  great  luxury  ; these  rooms  look  miserable  to 
you,  but  you  can  soon  make  any  alterations  you  like." 

“ Oh,  I must  have  a private  sitting-room  fitted  up  for 
myself  down-stairs.  And  the  rest  are  bedrooms,  I suppose/' 
he  went  on,  opening  a side-door.  “ Ah,  I can  sleep  here  a 
night  or  two.  But  there’s  a bedroom  down-stairs,  with  an 
ante-room,  I remember,  that  would  do  for  my  man  Dominic 
and  the  little  boy.  I should  like  to  have  that.” 

“ Your  father  has  slept  there  for  years.  He  will  be  like  a 
distracted  insect,  and  never  know  where  to  go,  if  you  alter 
the  track  he  has  to  walk  in.” 

“ That’s  a pity.  I hate  going  up-stairs.” 

“ There  is  the  steward’s  room  : it  is  not  used,  and  might 
be  turned  into  a bedroom.  I can’t  offer  you  my  room,  for 
I sleep  up-stairs.”  (Mrs.  Transome’s  tongue  could  be  a 
whip  upon  occasion,  but  the  lash  had  not  fallen  on  a sen- 
sitive spot.) 

“ No  ; I’m  determined  not  to  sleep  up-stairs.  We’ll  see 
about  the  steward’s  room  to-morrow,  and  I dare  say  I shall 
find  a closet  of  some  sort  for  Dominic.  It’s  a nuisance  he 
had  to  stay  behind,  for  I shall  have  nobody  to  cook  for  me. 
Ah,  there’s  the  old  river  I used  to  fish  in.  I often  thought, 
when  I was  at  Smyrna,  that  I would  buy  a park  with  a river 
through  it  as  much  like  the  Lapp  as  possible.  Gad,  what 
fine  oaks  those  are  opposite ! Some  of  them  must  come 
down,  though.” 

“I’ve  held  every  tree  sacred  on  the  demesne,  as  I told 
you,  Harold.  I trusted  to  your  getting  the  estate  some  time, 
and  releasing  it ; and  I determined  to  keep  it  worth  releas- 
ing. A park  without  fine  timber  is  no  better  than  a beauty 
without  teeth  and  hair.” 

“Bravo,  mother  ! ” said  Harold,  putting  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder.  “ Ah,  you’ve  had  to  worry  yourself  about  things 
that  don’t  properly  belong  to  a woman — my  father  being 
weakly.  We’ll  set  all  that  right.  You  shall  have  nothing 
to  do  now  but  to  be  grandmamma  on  satin  cushions.” 

“You  must  excuse  me  from  the  satin  cushions.  That  is 
a part  of  the  old  woman’s  duty  I am  not  prepared  for.  I 
am  used  to  be  chief  bailiff,  and  to  sit  in  the  saddle  two  or 
three  hours  every  day.  There  are  two  farms  on  our  hands 
besides  the  Home  Farm.” 

“Phew-ew!  Jermyn  manages  the  estate  badly,  then. 
That  will  not  last  under  my  reign,”  said  Harold,  turning  on 


20 


FELIX  HOLT, 


his  heel  and  feeling  in  his  pockets  for  the  keys  of  his  port- 
manteaus, which  had  been  brought  up. 

“ Perhaps  when  you've  been  in  England  a little  longer," 
said  Mrs.  Transome,  coloring  as  if  she  had  been  a girl,  “you 
will  understand  better  the  difficulty  there  is  in  letting  farms 
these  times." 

“I  understand  the  difficulty  perfectly,  mother.  To  let 
farms,  a man  must  have  the  sense  to  see  what  will  make 
them  inviting  to  farmers,  and  to  get  sense  supplied  on 
demand  is  just  the  most  difficult  transaction  I know  of.  I 
suppose  if  I ring  there’s  some  fellow  who  can  act  as  valet 
and  learn  to  attend  to  my  hookah?" 

“There  is  Hickes  the  butler,  and  there  is  Jabez  the  foot- 
man ; those  are  all  the  men  in  the  house.  They  were  here 
when  you  left.” 

“Oh,  I remember  Jabez — he  was  a dolt.  I'll  have  old 
Hickes.  He  was  a neat  little  machine  of  a butler ; his 
words  used  to  come  like  the  clicks  of  an  engine.  He  must 
be  an  old  machine  now,  though." 

“You  seem  to  remember  some  things  about  home  won- 
derfully well,  Harold." 

“ Never  forget  places  and  people — how  they  look  and  what 
can  be  done  with  them.  All  the  country  round  here  lies 
like  a map  in  my  brain.  A deuced  pretty  country  too  ; but 
the  people  were  a stupid*  set  of  old  Whigs  and  Tories.  I 
suppose  they  are  much  as  they  were." 

“ I am,  at  least,  Harold.  You  are  the  first  of  your  family 
that  ever  talked  of  being  a Radical.  I did  not  think  I was 
taking  care  of  our  old  oaks  for  that.  I always  thought  Radi- 
cals’ houses  stood  staring  above  poor  sticks  of  young  trees 
and  iron  hurdles." 

“ Yes,  but  the  Radical  sticks  are  growing,  mother,  and  half 
the  Tory  oaks  are  rotting,"  said  Harold,  with  gay  carelessness. 
“ You've  arranged  for  Jermyn  to  be  early  to-morrow  ? " 

“ He  will  be  here  to  breakfast  at  "nine.  But  I leave  you 
to  Hickes  now  ; we  dine  in  an  hour." 

Mrs.  Transome  went  away  and  shut  herself  in  her  own 
dressing-room.  It  had  come  to  pass  now — this  meeting  with 
the  son  who  had  been  the  object  of  so  much  longing  ; whom 
she  had  longed  for  before  he  was  born,  for  whom  she  had 
sinned,  from  whom  she  had  wrenched  herself  with  pain  at 
their  parting,  and  whose  coming  again  had  been  the  one 
great  hope  of  her  years.  The  moment  was  gone  by  ; there 
had  been  no  ecstasy,  no  gladness  even  ; hardly  half  an  hour 


THE  RADICAL. 


21 


had  passed,  and  few  words  had  been  spoken,  yet  with  that 
quickness  in  weaving  new  futures  which  belongs  to  women 
whose  actions  have  kept  them  in  habitual  fear  of  conse- 
quences, Mrs.  Transome  thought  she  saw  with  all  the  clear- 
ness of  demonstration  that  her  son’s  return  had  not  been  a 
good  for  her  in  the  sense  of  making  her  any  happier. 

She  stood  before  a tall  mirror,  going  close  to  it  and  look- 
ing at  her  face  with  hard  scrutiny,  as  if  it  were  unrelated  to 
herself.  No  elderly  face  can  be  handsome,  looked  at  in  that 
way  ; every  little  detail  is  startlingly  prominent,  and  the 
effect  of  the  whole  is  lost.  She  saw  the  dried-up  complexion, 
and  the  deep  lines  of  bitter  discontent  about  the  mouth. 

“ I am.  a hag  ! ” she  said  to  herself  (she  was  accustomed 
to  give  her  thoughts  a very  sharp  outline),  “ an  ugly  old 
woman  who  happens  to  be  his  mother.  That  is  what  he  sees* 
in  me,  as  I see  a stranger  in  him.  I shall  count  for  nothing. 
I was  foolish  to  expect  anything  else.” 

She  turned  away  from  the  mirror  and  walked  up  and  down 
her  room. 

“ What  a likeness  ! ” she  said,  in  a loud  whisper ; “ yet, 
perhaps,  no  one  will  see  it  besides  me.” 

She  threw  herself  into  a chair,  and  sat  with  a fixed  look, 
seeing  nothing  that  was  actually  present,  but  inwardly  seeing 
with  painful  vividness  what  had  been  present  with  her  a little 
more  than  thirty  years  ago — the  little  round-limbed  creature 
that  had  been  leaning  against  her  knees,  and  stamping  tiny 
feet,  and  looking  up  at  her  with  gurgling  laughter.  She  had 
thought  that  the  possession  of  this  child  would  give  unity  to 
her  life,  and  make  some  gladness  through  the  changing  years 
that  would  grow  as  fruit  out  of  these  early  maternal  caresses. 
But  nothing  had  come  just  as  she  had  wished.  The  mother’s 
early  raptures  had  lasted  but  a short  time,  and  even  while 
they  lasted  there  had  grown  up  in  the  midst  of  them  a hun- 
gry desire,  like  a black  poisonous  plant  feeding  in  the  sun- 
light,— the  desire  that  hg|0Pst,  rickety,  ugly,  imbecile  child 
should  die,  and  leave  room  for  her  darling,  of  whom  she 
could  be  proud.  Such  desires  make  life  a hideous  lottery, 
where  everyday  may  turn  up  a blank;  where  men  and  women 
who  have  the  softest  beds  and  the  most  delicate  eating, 
who  have  a very  large  share  of  that  sky  and  earth  which  some 
are  born  to  have  no  more  of  than  the  fraction  to  be  got  in  a 
crowded  entry,  yet  grow  haggard,  fevered,  and  restless,  like 
those  who  watch  in  other  lotteries.  Day  after  day,  year  after 
year,  had  yielded  blanks  ; new  cares  had  come,  bringing  other 


22 


FELIX  HOLT, 


desires  for  results  quite  beyond  her  grasp,  which  must  also  be 
watched  for  in  the  lottery  ; and  all  the  while  the  round-limbed 
pet  had  been  growing  into  a strong  youth,  who  liked  many 
things  better  than  his  mother’s  caresses,  and  who  had  a much 
keener  consciousness  of  his  independent  existence  than  of  his 
relation  to  her  : the  lizard’s  egg,  that  white  rounded  passive 
prettiness,  had  become  a brown,  darting,  determined  lizard. 
The  mother’s  love  is  at  first  an  absorbing  delight,  blunting  all 
other  sensibilities  ; it  is  an  expansion  of  the  animal  existence; 
it  enlarges  the  imagined  range  for  self  to  move  in  : but  in 
after  years  it  can  only  continue  to  be  joy  on  the  same  terms  as 
other  long-lived  love — that  is,  by  much  suppression  of  self, 
and  power  of  living  in  the  experience  of  another.  Mrs. 
Transome  had  darkly  felt  the  pressure  of  that  unchange- 
able fact.  Yet  she  had  clung  to  the  belief  that  somehow 
the  possession  of  this  son  was  the  best  thing  she  lived  for  ; 
to  believe  otherwise  would  have  made  her  memory  too 
ghastly  a companion.  Some  time  or  other,  by  some  means, 
the  estate  she  was  struggling  to  save  from  the  grasp  of  the 
law  would  be  Harold’s.  Somehow  the  'hated  Durfey,  the 
imbecile  eldest,  who  seemed  to  have  become  tenacious  of  a 
despicable  squandering  life,  would  be  got  rid  of  ; vice  might 
kill  him.  Meanwhile  the  estate  was  burdened  : there  was  no 
good  prospect  for  any  heir,  Harold  must  go  and  make  a 
career  for  himself  and  this  was  what  he  was  bent  on,  with  a 
precocious  clearness  of  perception  as  to  the  conditions  on 
which  he  could  hope  for  any  advantages  in  life.  Like  most 
energetic  natures,  he  had  a strong  faith  in  his  luck  ; he  had 
been  gay  at  their  parting,  and  had  promised  to  make  his 
fortune  ; and  in  spite  of  past  disappointments,  Harold’s 
possible  fortune  still  made  some  ground  for  his  mother  to 
plant  her  hopes  in.  His  luck  had  not  failed  him  ; yet 
nothing  had  turned  out  according  to  her  expectations.  Her 
life  had  been  like  a spoiled  shabby  pleasure-day,  in  which 
the  music  and  the  processions  missed,  and  nothing  is 

left  at  evening  but  the  wearinessof  striving  after  what  has 
been  failed  of.  Harold  had  gone  with  the  Embassy  to  Con- 
stantinople, under  the  patronage  of  a high  relative,  his 
mother’s  cousin  ; he  was  to  be  diplomatist,  and  work  his  way 
upward  in  public  life.  But  his  luck  had  taken  another 
shape : he  had  saved  the  life  of  an  Armenian  banker,  who 
in  gratitude  had  offered  him  a prospect  which  his  prac- 
tical mind  had  preferred  to  the  problematic  promises  of 
diplomacy  and  high-born  cousinship.  Harold  had  become 


THE  RADICAL. 


23 


a merchant  and  banker  at  Smyrna ; and  let  the  years 
pass  without  caring  to  find  the  possibility  of  visiting  his 
early  home,  and  had  shown  no  eagerness  to  make  his  life 
at  all  familiar  to  his  mother,  asking  for  letters  about  England, 
but  writing  scantily  about  himself.  Mrs.  Transome  had  kept 
up  the  habit  of  writing  to  her  son,  but  gradually  the  unfruit- 
ful years  had  dulled  her  hopes  and  yearnings  ; increasing 
anxieties  about  money  had  worried  her,  and  she  was  more 
sure  of  being  fretted  by  bad  news  about  her  dissolute  eldest 
son  than  of  hearing  anything  to  cheer  her  from  Harold.  She 
had  begun  to  live  merely  in  small  immediate  cares  and  occu- 
pations, and  like  all  eager-minded  women  who  advance  in 
life  without  any  activity  of  tenderness  or  any  large  sympathy, 
she  had  contracted  small  rigid  habits  of  thinking  and  acting, 
she  had  her  “ ways  ” which  must  not  be  crossed,  and  had 
learned  to  fill  up  the  great  void  of  life  with  giving  small 
orders  to  tenants,  insisting  on  medicines  for  infirm  cottagers, 
winning  small  triumphs  in  bargains  and  personal  economies, 
and  parrying  ill-natured  remarks  of  Lady  Debarry's  by  lan- 
cet-edged epigrams.  So  her  life  had  gone  on  till  more  than 
a year  ago,  when  that  desire  which  had  been  so  hungry  when 
she  was  a blooming  young  mother,  was  at  last  fulfilled — at 
last,  when  her  hair  was  gray,  and  her  face  looked  bitter, 
restless,  and  unenjoying,  like  her  life.  The  news  came  from 
Jersey  that  Durfey,  the  imbecile  son,  was  dead.  Now  Har- 
old was  heir  to  the  estate  ; now  the  wealth  he  had  gained 
could  release  the  land  from  its  burdens  ; now  he  would 
think  it  worth  while  to  return  home.  A change  had  come 
over  her  life,  and  the  sunlight  breaking  the  clouds  at  evening 
was  pleasant,  though  the  sun  must  sink  before  long.  Hopes, 
affections,  the  sweeter  part  of  her  memories,  started  from 
their  wintry  sleep,  and  it  once  more  seemed  a great  good  to 
have  had  a second  son  who  in  some  ways  had  cost  her  dearly. 
But  again  there  were  conditions  she  had  not  reckoned  on. 
When  the  good  tidings  had  been  sent  to  Harold,  and  he  had 
announced  that  he  would  return  so  soon  as  he  could  wind 
up  his  affairs,  he  had  for  the  first  time  informed  his  mother 
that  he  had  been  married,  that  his  Greek  wife  was  no  longer 
living,  but  that  he  should  bring  home  a little  boy, the  finest  and 
most  desirable  of  heirs  and  grandsons.  Harold  seated  in  his 
distant  Smyrna  home  considered  that  he  was  taking  a rational 
view  of  what  things  must  have  become  by  this  time  at  the  old 
place  in  England,  when  he  figured  hismother  as  a good  elderly 
lady,,who  would  necessarily  be  delighted  with  the  possession 


24 


FELIX  HOLT, 


on  any  terms  of  a healthy  grandchild,  and  would  not  mind 
much  about  the  particulars  of  a long-concealed  marriage. 

Mrs.  Transome  had  torn  up  that  letter  in  a rage.  But  in 
the  months  which  had  elapsed  before  Harold  could  actually 
arrive,  she  had  prepared  herself  as  well  as  she  could  to  sup- 
press all  reproaches  or  queries  which  her  son  might  resent, 
and  to  acquiesce  in  his  evident  wishes.  The  return  was  still 
looked  for  with  longing  ; affection  and  satisfied  pride  would 
again  warm  her  later  years.  She  was  ignorant  what  sort  of 
man  Harold  had  become  now,  and  of  course  he  must  be 
changed  in  many  ways  ; but  though  she  told  herself  this,  still 
the  image  that  she  knew,  the  image  fondness  clung  to,  nec- 
essarily prevailed  over  the  negatives  insisted  on  by  her  reason. 

And  so  it  was,  that  when  she  had  moved  to  the  door  to  meet 
him,  she  had  been  sure  that  she  should  clasp  her  son  again, 
and  feel  that  he  was  the  same  who  had  been  her  boy,  her 
little  one,  the  loved  child  of  her  passionate  youth.  An  hour 
seemed  to  have  changed  everything  for  her.  A woman's 
hopes  are  woven  of  sunbeams  ; a shadow  annihilates  them. 
The  shadow  which  had  fallen  over  Mrs.  Transome  in  this 
first  interview  with  her  son  was  the  presentiment  of  her 
powerlessness.  If  things  went  wrong,  if  Harold  got  unpleas- 
antly disposed  in  a certain  direction  where  her  chief  dread 
had  always  lain,  she  seemed  to  foresee  that  her  words  would 
be  of  no  avail.  The  keenness  of  her  anxiety  in  this  matter 
had  served  as  insight;  and  Harold’s  rapidity, decision,  and  in- 
difference to  any  impressions  in  others,  which  did  not  further 
or  impede  his  own  purposes,  had  made  themselves  felt  by  her 
as  much  as  she  would  have  felt  the  unmanageable  strength  of 
a great  bird  which  had  alighted  near  her,  and  allowed  her 
to  stroke  its  wing  for  a moment  because  food  lay  near  her. 

Under  the  cold  weight  of  these  thoughts  Mrs.  Transome 
shivered.  That  physical  reaction  roused  her  from  her 
reverie,  and  she  could  now  hear  the  gentle  knocking  at  the 
door  to  which  she  had  been  deaf  before.  Notwithstanding 
her  activity  and  the  fewness  of  her  servants,  she  had  never 
dressed  herself  without  aid  ; nor  would  that  small,  neat, 
exquisitely  clean  old  woman  who  now  presented  herself 
have  wished  that  her  labor  should  be  saved  at  the  expense 
of  such  a sacrifice  on  her  lady’s  part.  The  small  old  woman 
was  Mrs.  Hickes,  the  butler’s  wife,  who  acted  as  house- 
keeper, lady's-maid,  and  superintendent  of  the  kitchen — the 
large  stony  scene  of  inconsiderable  cooking.  Forty  years 
ago  she  had  entered  Mrs.  Transome’s  service,  when  that 


THE  RADICAL.  25 

lady  was  beautiful  Miss  Lingon,  and  her  mistress  still  called 
her  Denner,  as  she  had  done  in  the  old  days. 

“The  bell  has  rung,  then,  Denner,  without  my  hearing 
it  ?”  said  Mrs.  Transome,  rising. 

“Yes,  madam,”  said  Denner,  reaching  from  a wardrobe  an 
old  black  velvet  dress  trimmed  with  much-mended  point,  in 
which  Mrs. Transome  was  wont  to  look  queenly  of  an  evening. 

Denner  had  still  strong  eyes  of  that  short-sighted  kind 
which  sees  through  the  narrowest  chink  between  the  eye- 
lashes. The  physical  contrast  between  the  tall,  eagle-faced, 
dark-eyed  lady,  and  the  little  peering  waiting  woman,  who 
had  been  round-featured  and  of  pale  mealy  complexion  from 
her  youth  up,  had  doubtless  had  a strong  influence  in  determ- 
ining Denner’s  feeling  toward  her  mistress,  which  was  of 
that  worshipful  sort  paid  to  a goddess  in  ages  when  it  was 
not  thought  necessary  or  likely  that  a goddess  should  be 
very  moral.  There  were  different  orders  of  beings — so  ran 
Denner’s  creed — and  she  belonged  to  another  order  than 
that  to  which  her  mistress  belonged.  She  had  a mind  as 
sharp  as  a needle,  and  would  have  seen  through  and  through 
the  ridiculous  pretensions  of  a born  servant  who  did  not 
submissively  accept  the  rigid  fate  which  had  given  her  born 
superiors.  She  would  have  called  such  pretensions  the 
wrigglings  of  a worm  that  tried  to  walk  on  its  tail.  There 
was  a tacit  understanding  that  Denner  knew  all  her  mistress’s 
secrets,  and  her  speech  was  plain  and  unflattering  ; yet  with 
wonderful  subtlety  of  instinct  she  never  said  anything  which 
Mrs.  Transome  could  feel  humiliated  by,  as  by  familiarity 
from  a servant  who  knew  too  much.  Denner  identified  her 
own  dignity  with  that  of  her  mistress.  She  was  a hard- 
headed  godless  little  woman,  but  with  a character  to  be 
reckoned  on  as  you  reckon  on  the  qualities  of  iron. 

Peering  into  Mrs.  Transome’s  face  she  saw  clearly  that  the 
meeting  with  the  son  had  been  a disappointment  in  some 
way.  She  spoke  with  a refined  accent,  in  a low  quick, 
monotonous  tone— 

“ Mr.  Harold  is  dressed  ; he  shook  me  by  the  hand  in  the 
corridor,  and  was  very  pleasant.” 

“ What  an  alteration,  Denner  ! No  likeness  to  me  now.” 

“ Handsome,  though,  spite  of  his  being  so  browned  and 
stout.  There’s  a fine  presence  about  Mr.  Harold.  I remem- 
ber you  used  to  say,  madam,  there  were  some  people  you 
would  always  know  were  in  the  room  though  they  stood  round 
a corner,  and  others  you  might  never  see  till  you  ran  against 


26 


FELIX  HOLT. 


them.  That’s  as  true  as  truth.  And  as  for  likenesses,  thirty- 
five  and  sixty  are  not  much  alike,  only  to  people’s  memories.” 
Mrs.  Transome  knew  perfectly  that  Denner  had  divined 
her  thoughts. 

“ I don’t  know  how  things  will  go  on  now,  but  it  seems 
something  too  good  to  happen  that  they  will  go  on  well.  I am 
afraid  of  ever  expecting  anything  good  again.” 

“ That’s  weakness,  madam.  Things  don’t  happen  because 
they’re  bad  or  good,  else  all  eggs  would  be  addled  or  none 
at  all,  and  at  the  most  it  is  but  six  to  the  dozen.  There’s 
good  chances  and  bad  chances,  and  nobody’s  luck  is  pulled 
only  by  one  string.” 

“ What  a woman  you  are,  Denner!  You  talk  like  a French 
infidel.  It  seems  to  me  you  are  afraid  of  nothing.  I have 
been  full  of  fears  all  my  life — always  seeing  something  or 
other  hanging  over  me  that  I couldn’t  bear  to  happen.” 
“Well,  madam,  put  a good  face  on  it,  and  don’t  seem  to 
be  on  the  lookout  for  crows,  else  you’ll  set  other  people 
watching.  Here  you  have  a rich  son  come  home,  and  the 
debts  will  all  be  paid,  and  you  have  your  health  and  can 
ride  about,  and  you’ve  such  a face  and  figure,  and  will  have 
if  you  live  to  be  eighty,  that  everybody  is  cap  in  hand  to  you 
before  they  know  you  who  are  ; let  me  fasten  up  your  veil  a little 
higher  : there’s  a good  deal  of  pleasure  in  life  for  you  yet.” 

“ Nonsense!  there’s  no  pleasure  for  old  women,  unless  they 
get  it  out  of  tormenting  other  people.  What  are  your  pleas- 
ures, Denner — besides  being  a slave  to  me  ? ” 

“ Oh,  there’s  pleasure  in  knowing  one’s  not  a fool,  like 
half  the  people  one  sees  about.  And  managing  one’s  hus- 
band is  some  pleasure  ; and  doing  all  one’s  business  well. 
Why,  if  I’ve  only  got  some  orange  flowers  to  candy, I shouldn’t 
like  to  die  till  I see  them  all  right.  Then  there’s  the  sun- 
shine now  and  then  ; I like  that  as  the  cats  do.  I look  upon 
it,  life  is  like  our  game  at  whist,  when  Banks  and  his  wife 
come  to  the  still-room  of  an  evening.  I don’t  enjoy  the 
game  much,  but  I like  to  play  my  cards  well,  and  see  what 
will  be  the  end  of  it  ; and  I want  to  see  you  make  the  best 
of  your  hand,  madam,  for  your  luck  has  been  mine  these 
forty  years  now.  But  I must  go  and  see  how  Kitty  dishes 
up  the  dinner,  unless  you  have  any  more  commands.” 

“ No,  Denner  ; I am  going  down  immediately.” 

As  Mrs.  Transome  descended  the  stone  staircase  in  her  old 
black  velvet  and  point,  her  appearance  justified  Denner’s 
personal  compliment.  She  had  that  high-born,  imperious 


THE  RADICAL. 


27 


air  which  would  have  marked  her  as  an  object  of  hatred  and 
reviling  by  a revolutionary  mob.  Her  person  was  too  typical 
of  social  distinctions  to  be  passed  by  with  indifference  by 
any  one  : it  would  have  fitted  an  empress  in  her  own  right, 
who  had  had  to  rule  in  spite  of  faction,  to  dare  the  violation 
of  treaties  and  dread  retributive  invasions,  to  grasp  after  new 
territories,  to  be  defiant  in  desperate  circumstances,  and  to 
feel  a woman’s  hunger  of  the  heart  forever  unsatisfied.  Yet 
Mrs.  Transome’s  cares  and  occupations  had  not  been  at  all 
of  an  imperial  sort.  For  thirty  years  she  had  led  the  monot- 
onous, narrowing  life  which  used  to  be  the  lot  of  our  poorer 
gentry  ; who  never  went  to  town,  and  were  probably  not  on 
speaking  terms  with  two  out  of  the  five  families  whose  parks 
lay  within  the  distance  of  a drive.  When  she  was  young  she 
had  been  thought  wonderfully  clever  and  accomplished,  and 
had  been  rather  ambitious  of  intellectual  superiority — had 
secretly  picked  out  for  private  reading  the  higher  parts  of 
dangerous  French  authors — and  in  company  had  been  able 
to  talk  of  Mr.Burke’s  style, or  of  Chateaubriand’s  eloquence — 
had  laughed  at  the  Lyrical  Ballads,  and  admired  Mr.  Southey’s 
Thalaba.  She  always  thought  that  the  dangerous  French 
writers  were  wicked  and  that  her  reading  of  them  was  a sin; 
but  many  sinful  things  were  highly  agreeable  to  her,  and 
many  things  which  she  did  not  doubt  to  be  good  and  true  were 
dull  and  meaningless.  She  found  ridicule  of  Biblical  char- 
acters very  amusing,  and  she  was  interested  in  stories  of  illicit 
passion  ; but  she  believed  all  the  while  that  truth  and  safety 
lay  in  due  attendance  on  prayers  and  sermons,  in  the  admir- 
able doctrines  and  ritual  of  the  Church  of  England,  equally 
remote  from  Puritanism  and  Popery  ; in  fact,  in  such  a 
view  of  this  world  and  the  next  as  would  preserve  the  exist- 
ing arrangements  of  English  society  quite  unshaken,  keep- 
ing down  the  obtrusiveness  of  the  vulgar  and  the  discontent 
of  the  poor.  The  history  of  the  Jews,  she  knew,  ought  to  be 
preferred  to  any  profane  history  ; the  Pagans,  of  course, 
were  vicious,  and  their  religions  quite  nonsensical,  con- 
sidered as  religions — but  classical  learning  came  from  the 
Pagans  ; the  Greeks  were  famous  for  sculpture  ; the  Italians 
for  painting  ; the  middle  ages  were  dark  and  Papistical  ; 
but  now  Christianity  went  hand  in  hand  with  civilization,  and 
the  providential  government  of  the  world,  though  a little 
confused  and  entangled  in  foreign  countries,  in  our  favored 
land  was  clearly  seen  to  be  carried  forward  on  Tory  and 
Church  of  England  principles,  sustained  by  the  succession 


28 


FELIX  HOLT, 


of  the  House  of  Brunswick,  and  by  sound  English  divines. 
For  Miss  Lingon  had  had  a superior  governess,  who  held 
that  a woman  should  be  able  to  write  a good  letter,  and  to 
express  herself  with  propriety  on  general  subjects.  And  it 
is  astonishing  how  effective  this  education  appeared  in 
a handsome  girl,  who  sat  supremely  well  on  horseback, 
sang  and  played  a little,  painted  small  figures  in  water- 
colors,  had  a naughty  sparkle  in  her  eyes  when  she  made  a 
daring  quotation,  and  an  air  of  serious  dignity  when  she  re- 
cited something  from  her  store  of  correct  opinions.  But 
however  such  a stock  of  ideas  may  be  made  to  tell  in  elegant 
society,  and  during  a few  seasons  in  town,  no  amount  of 
bloom  and  beauty  can  make  them  a perennial  source  of  in- 
terest in  things  not  personal  ; and  the  notion  that  what  is 
true  and,  in  general,  good  for  mankind,  is  stupid  and  drug- 
like, is  not  a safe  theoretic  basis  in  circumstances  of  temp- 
tation and  difficulty.  Mrs.  Transome  had  been  in  her 
bloom  before  this  century  began,  and  in  the  long  painful 
years  since  then,  what  she  had  once  regarded  as  her  knowl- 
edge and  accomplishments  had  become  as  valueless  as  old- 
fashioned  stucco  ornaments,  of  which  the  substance  was 
never  worth  anything,  while  the  form  is  no  longer  to  the 
taste  of  any  living  mortal.  Crosses,  mortifications,  money- 
cares,  conscious  blame-worthiness,  had  changed  the  aspect 
of  the  world  for  her  ; there  was  anxiety  in  the  morning  sun- 
light ; there  was  unkind  triumph  or  disapproving  pity  in  the 
glances  of  greeting  neighbors  ; there  was  advancing  age, 
and  a contracting  prospect  in  the  changing  seasons  as  they 
came  and  went.  And  what  could  then  sweeten  the  days  to 
a hungry,  much-exacting  self  like  Mrs.  Transome’s  ? Under 
protracted  ill  every  living  creature  will  find  something  that 
makes  a comparative  ease,  and  even  when  life  seems  woven 
of  pain,  will  convert  the  fainter  pang  into  a desire.  Mrs. 
Transome,  whose  imperious  will  had  availed  little  to  ward 
off  the  great  evils  of  her  life,  found  the  opiate  for  her  discon- 
tent in  the  exertion  of  her  will  about  smaller  things.  She 
was  not  cruel,  and  could  not  enjoy  thoroughly  what  she 
called  the  old  woman’s  pleasure  of  tormenting  ; but  she 
liked  every  little  sign  of  power  her  lot  had  left  her.  She 
liked  that  a tenant  should  stand  bareheaded  below  her  as 
she  sat  on  horseback.  She  liked  to  insist  that  work  done 
without  her  orders  should  be  undone  from  beginning  to 
end.  She  liked  to  be  courtesied  and  bowed  to  by  all  the  con- 
gregation as  she  walked  up  the  little  barn  of  a church.  She 


THE  RADICAL. 


29 


liked  to  change  a laborer’s  medicine  fetched  from  the  doc- 
tor, and  substitute  a prescription  of  her  own.  If  she  had 
only  been  more  haggard  and  less  majestic,  those  who  had 
glimpses  of  her  outward  life  might  have  said  she  was  a ty- 
rannical, griping  harridan,  with  a tongue  like  a razor.  No 
one  said  exactly  that  ; but  they  never  said  anything  like  the 
full  truth  about  iier,  or  divined  what  was  hidden  under  that 
outward  life — a woman’s  keen  sensibility  and  dread,  which 
lay  screened  behind  all  her  petty  habits  and  narrow  notions, 
as  some  quivering  thing  with  eyes  and  throbbing  heart  may 
lie  crouching  behind  withered  rubbish.  The  sensibility  and 
dread  had  palpitated  all  the  faster  in  the  prospect  of  her 
son’s  return  ; and  now  that  she  had  seen  him,  she  said  to 
herself,  in  her  bitter  way,  “ It  is  a lucky  eel  that  escapes 
skinning.  The  best  happiness  I shall  ever  know,  will  be  to 
escape  the  worst  misery.” 

CHAPTER  II. 

A jolly  parson  of  the  good  old  stock, 

By  birth  a gentleman,  yet  homely  too, 

Suiting  his  phrase  to  Hodge  and  Margery 
Whom  he  once  christened,  and  has  married  since, 

A little  lax  in  doctrine  and  in  life. 

Not  thinking-God  was  captious  in  such  things 
As  what  a man  might  drink  on  holidays, 

But  holding  true  religion  was  to  do 

As  you’d  be  done  by — which  could  never  mean 

That  he  should  preach  three  sermons  in  a week* 

Harold  Transome  did  not  choose  to  spend  the  whole 
evening  with  his  mother.  It  was  his  habit  to  compress  a 
great  deal  of  effective  conversation  into  a short  space  of 
time,  asking  rapidly  all  the  questions  he  wanted  to  get  an- 
swered, and  diluting  no  subject  with  irrelevancies,  para- 
phrase, or  repetitions.  He  volunteered  no  information  about 
himself  and  his  past  life  at  Smyrna,  but  answered  pleasantly 
enough,  though  briefly,  whenever  his  mother  asked  for  any 
detail.  He  was  evidently  ill-satisfied  as  to  his  palate,  trying 
red  pepper  to  everything,  then  asking  if  there  were  any 
relishing  sauces  in  the  house,  and  when  Hickes  brought 
various  home-filled  bottles,  trying  several,  finding  them 
failures,  and  finally  falling  back  from  his  plate  in  despair. 
Yet  he  remained  good-humored,  saying  something  to  his 
father  now  and  then  for  the  sake  of  being  kind,  and  looking 
on  with  a pitying  shrug  as  he  saw  him  watch  Hickes  cutting 
his  food.  Mrs.  Transome  thought  with  some  bitterness 
that  Harold  showed  more  feeling  for  her  feeble  husband 
who  had  never  cared  in  the  least  about  him,  than  for  her, 


3° 


FELIX  HOLT, 


who  had  given  him  more  than  the  usual  share  of  mother’s 
love.  An  hour  after  dinner,  Harold,  who  had  already  been 
turning  over  the  leaves  of  his  mother’s  account-books,  said — 

“ I shall  just  cross  the  park  to  the  parsonage  to  see  my 
uncle  Lingon.” 

“ Very  well.  He  can  answer  more  questions  for  you.” 

“Yes,”  said  Harold,  quite  deaf  to  the  innuendo,  and 
accepting  the  words  as  a simple  statement  of  the  fact.  “ I 
want  to  hear  all  about  the  game  and  the  North  Loamshire 
hunt.  I’m  fond  of  sport  ; we  had  a great  deal  of  it  at 
Smyrna,  and  it  keeps  down  my  fat.” 

The  Reverend  John  Lingon  became  very  talkative  over 
his  second  bottle  of  port,  which  was  opened  on  his  nephew’s 
arrival.  He  was  not  curious  about  the  manners  of  Smyrna, 
or  about  Harold’s  experience,  but  he  unbosomed  himself 
very  freely  as  to  what  he  himself  liked  and  disliked,  which 
of  the  farmers  he  suspected  of  killing  the  foxes,  what  game 
he  had  bagged  that  very  morning,  what  spot  he  would 
recommend  as  a new  cover,  and  the  comparative  flatness  of 
all  existing  sport  compared  with  cock-fighting,  under  which 
Old  England  had  been  prosperous  and  glorious,  while,  so 
far  as  he  could  see,  it  had  gained  little  by  the  abolition  of  a 
practice  which  sharpened  the  faculties  of  men,  gratified  the 
instincts  of  the  fowl,  and  carried  out  the  designs  of  heaven 
in  its  admirable  device  of  spurs.  From  chese  main  topics, 
which  made  his  points  of  departure  and  return,  he  rambled 
easily  enough  at  any  new  suggestion  or  query  ; so  that  when 
Harold  got  home  at  a late  hour,  he  was  conscious  of  having 
gathered  from  amidst  the  pompous  full-toned  triviality  of 
his  uncle’s  chat  some  impressions,  which  were  of  practical 
importance.  Among  the  rector’s  dislikes,  it  appeared,  was 
Mr.  Matthew  Jermyn. 

“ A fat-handed,  glib-tongued  fellow,  with  a scented  cam- 
bric handkerchief  ; one  of  your  educated  low-bred  fellows  ; 
a foundling  who  got  his  Latin  for  nothing  at  Christ’s 
Hospital ; one  of  your  middle-class  upstarts  who  want  to 
rank  with  gentlemen,  and  think  they’ll  do  it  with  kid  gloves 
and  new  furniture.” 

But  since  Harold  meant  to  stand  for  the  county,  Mr. 
Lingon  was  equally  emphatic  as  to  the  necessity  of  his  not 
quarrelling  with  Jermyn  till  the  election  was  over.  Jermyn 
must  be  his  agent  ; Harold  must  wink  hard  till  he  found 
himself  safely  returned  ; and  even  then  it  might  be  well  to 
let  Jermyn  drop  gently  and  raise  no  scandal.  He  himself 


THE  RADICAL. 


3* 


had  no  quarrel  with  the  fellow  : a clergyman  should  have 
no  quarrels,  and  he  made  it  a point  to  be  able  to  take  wine 
with  any  man  he  met  at  table.  And  as  to  the  estate,  and 
his  sister’s  going  too  much  by  Jermyn’s  advice,  he  never 
meddled  with  business  : it  was  not  his  duty  as  a clergyman. 
That,  he  considered,  was  the  meaning  of  Melchisedec  and 
the  tithe,  a subject,  into  which  he  had  gone  to  some  depth 
thirty  years  ago,  when  he  preached  the  Visitation  sermon. 

The  discovery  that  Harold  meant  to  stand  on  the  Liberal 
side — nay,  that  he  boldly  declared  himself  a Radical — was 
rather  startling  ; but  to  his  uncle’s  good-humor,  beatified 
by  the  sipping  of  port-wine,  nothing  could  seem  highly 
objectionable,  provided  it  did  not  disturb  that  operation. 
In  the  course  of  half  an  hour  he  had  brought  himself  to  see 
that  anything  really  worthy  to  be  called  British  Toryism 
had  been  entirely  extinct  since  the  Duke  of  Wellington  and 
Sir  Robert  Peel  had  passed  the  Catholic  Emancipation  Bill ; 
that  Whiggery,  with  its  rights  of  man  stopping  short  at  ten- 
pound  householders,  and  its  policy  of  pacifying  a wild  beast 
with  a bite,  was  a ridiculous  monstrosity  ; that  therefore, 
since  an  honest  man  could  not  call  himself  a Tory,  which 
it  was,  in  fact,  as  impossible  to  be  now  as  to  fight  for  the 
old  Pretender,  and  could  still  less  become  that  execrable 
monstrosity  a Whig,  there  remained  but  one  course  open  to 
him.  “ Why,  lad,  if  the  world  was  turned  into  a swamp,  I 
suppose  we  should  leave  off  shoes  and  stockings,  and  walk 
about  like  cranes  ” — whence  it  followed  plainly  enough 
that,  in  these  hopeless  times,  nothing  was  left  to  men  of 
sense  and  good  family  but  to  retard  the  national  ruin  by 
declaring  themselves  Radicals,  and  take  the  inevitable 
process  of  changing  everything  out  of  the  hands  of  beggarly 
demagogues  and  purse-proud  tradesmen.  It  is  true  the  rector 
was  helped  to  this  chain  of  reasoning  by  Harold’s  remarks  ; 
but  he  soon  became  quite  ardent  in  asserting  the  conclusion. 

“ If  the  mob  can’t  be  turned  back,  a man  of  family  must 
try  and  head  the  mob,  and  save  a few  homes  and  hearths, 
and  keep  the  country  up  on  its  last  legs  as  long  as  he  can. 
And  you’re  a man  of  family,  my  lad — dash  it  ! You’re  a 
Lingon,  whatever  else  you  may  be,  and  I’ll  stand  by  you. 
I’ve  no  great  interest  ; I’m  a poor  parson.  I’ve  been  forced 
to  give  up  hunting  ; my  pointers  and  a glass  of  good  wine 
are  the  only  decencies  becoming  my  station  that  I can 
allow  myself.  But  I’ll  give  you  my  countenance — I’ll  stick 
to  you  as  my  nephew.  There’s  no  need  for  me  to  change 


3* 


FELIX  HOLT, 


sides  exactly.  I was  born  a Tory,  and  I shall  never  be  a 
bishop.  But  if  anybody  says  you’re  in  the  wrong,  I shall 
say,  ‘ My  nephew  is  in  the  right  ; he  has  turned  Radical  to 
save  his  country.  If  William  Pitt  had  been  living  now  he’d 
have  done  the  same;  for  what  did  he  say  when  he  was  dying? 
Not  ‘Oh,  save  my  party  ! ’ but  ‘Oh,  save  my  country,  heaven!  ’ 
That  was  what  they  dinned  in  our  ears  about  Peel  and  the 
Duke;  and  now  I’ll  turn  it  round  upon  them.  They  shall  be 
hoist  with  their  own  petard.  Yes,  yes,  I’ll  stand  by  you.” 

Harold  did  not  feel  sure  that  his  uncle  would  thoroughly 
retain  this  satisfactory  thread  of  argument  in  the  unin- 
spired hours  of  the  morning  ; but  the  old  gentleman  was 
' sure  to  take  the  facts  easily  in  the  end,  and  there  was  no 
fear  of  family  coolness  or  quarrelling  on  this  side.  Harold 
was  glad  of  it.  He  was  not  to  be  turned  aside  from  any 
course  he  had  chosen  ; but  he  disliked  all  quarrelling  as  an 
unpleasant  expenditure  of  energy  that  could  have  no  good 
practical  result.  He  was  at  once  active  and  luxurious  ; 
fond  of  mastery,  and  good-natured  enough  to  wish  that 
every  one  about  him  should  like  his  mastery  ; not  caring 
greatly  to  know  other  people’s  thoughts,  and  ready  to 
despise  them  as  blockheads  if  their  thoughts  differed  from 
his,  and  yet  solicitous  that  they  should  have  no  colorable 
reason  for  slight  thoughts  about  him.  The  blockheads 
must  be  forced  to  respect  him.  Hence,  in  proportion  as  he 
foresaw  his  equals  in  the  neighborhood  would  be  indignant 
with  him  for  his  political  choice,  he  cared  keenly  about 
making  a good  figure  before  them  in  every  other  way.  His 
conduct  as  a landholder  was  to  be  judicious,  his  establish- 
ment was  to  be  kept  up  generously,  his  imbecile  father 
treated  with  careful  regard,  his  family  relations  entirely  with- 
out scandal.  He  knew  that  affairs  had  been  unpleasant  in  his 
youth — that  there  had  been  ugly  law-suits — and  that  his  scape- 
grace brother  Durfey  had  helped  to  lower  still  farther  the  de- 
pressed condition  of  the  family.  All  this  must  be  retrieved, now 
that  events  had  made  Harold  the  head  of  theTransome  name. 

Jermyn  must  be  used  for  the  election,  and  after  that  if  he 
must  be  got  rid  of,  it  would  be  well  to  shake  him  loose 
quietly  ; his  uncle  was  probably  right  on  both  these  points. 
But.  Harold’s  expectation  that  he  should  want  to  get  rid  of 
Jermyn  was  founded  on  other  reasons  than  his  scented 
handkerchief  and  his  charity-school  Latin. 

If  the  lawyer  had  been  presuming  on  Mrs.  Transome’s 
ignorance  as  a woman,  and  on  the  stupid  rakishness  of  the 


THE  RADICAL. 


33 


original  heir,  the  new  heir  would  prove  to  him  that  he  had 
calculated  rashly.  Otherwise,  Harold  had  no  prejudice 
against  him.  In  his  boyhood  and  youth  he  had  seen  Jermyn 
frequenting  Transome  Court,  but  had  regarded  him  with 
that  total  indifference  with  which  youngsters  are  apt  to  view 
those  who  neither  deny  them  pleasure  nor  give  them  any. 
Jermyn  used  to  smile  at  him,  and  speak  to  him  affably  ; but 
Harold,  half  proud,  half  shy,  got  away  from  such  patronage 
as  soon  as  possible  ; he  knew  Jermyn  was  a man  of  business  ; 
his  father,  his  uncle,  and  Sir  Maximus  Debarry  did  not 
regard  him  as  a gentleman  and  their  equal.  He  had  known 
no  evil  of  the  man  ; but  he  saw  now  that  if’  he  were  really 
a covetous  upstart,  there  had  been  a temptation  for  him  in 
the  management  of  the  Transome  affairs  ; and  it  was  clear 
that  the  estate  was  in  a bad  condition. 

When  Mr.  Jermyn  was  ushered  into  the  breakfast-room 
the  next  morning, Harold  found  him  surprisingly  little  altered 
by  the  fifteen  years.  He  was  gray,  but  still  remarkably 
handsome  ; fat,  but  tall  enough  to  bear  that  trial  to  man's 
dignity.  There  was  as  strong  a suggestion  of  toilette  about 
him  as  if  he  had  been  five-and-twenty  instead  of  nearly  sixty. 
He  chose  always  to  dress  in  black,  and  was  especially  addict- 
ed to  black  satin  waistcoats,  which  carried  out  the  general 
sleekness  of  his  appearance  ; and  this,  together  with  his 
white,  fat,  but  beautifully-shaped  hands,  which  he  was  in 
the  habit  of  rubbing  gently  on  his  entrance  into  a room, 
gave  him  very  much  the  air  of  a lady’s  physician.  Harold 
remembered  with  some  amusement  his  uncle’s  dislike  of 
those  conspicuous  hands  ; but  as  his  own  were  soft  and 
dimpled,  and  as  he  too  was  given  to  the  innocent  practice  of 
rubbing  those  members,  his  suspicions  were  not  yet  deepened. 

“ I congratulate  you,  Mrs.  Transome,”  said  Jermyn,  with 
a soft  and  deferential  smile,  “ all  the  more,”  he  added,  turn- 
ing toward  Harold,  “ now  I have  the  pleasure  of  actually 
seeing  your  son.  I am  glad  to  perceive  that  an  Eastern 
climate  has  not  been  unfavorable  to  him.” 

“ No,”  said  Harold,  shaking  Jermyn’s  hand  carelessly, 
and  speaking  with  more  than  his  usual  brusqueness,  “the 
question  is,  whether  the  English  climate  will  agree  with  me. 
It’s  deuced  shifting  and  damp  ; and  as  for  the  food,  it  would 
be  the  finest  thing  in  the  world  for  this  country  if  the 
southern  cooks  would  change  their  religion,  get  persecuted, 
and  fly  to  England,  as  the  old  silk-weavers  did.” 

“ There  are  plenty  of  foreign  cooks  for  those  who  are  rich 


34 


FELIX  HOLT, 


enough  to  pay  for  them,  I suppose,”  said  Mrs.  Transome, 
“ but  they  are  unpleasant  people  to  have  about  one’s  house.” 
“ Gad  ! I don’t  think  so,”  said  Harold. 

“ The  old  servants  are  sure  to  quarrel  with  them.” 

“ That’s  no  concern  of  mine.  The  old  servants  will  have 
to  put  up  with  my  man  Dominic,  who  will  show  them  how  to 
cook  and  do  everything  else  in  a way  that  will  rather  as- 
tonish them.” 

“ Old  people  are  not  so  easily  taught  to  change  all  their 
ways,  Harold.” 

“ Well,  they  can  give  up  and  watch  the  young  ones,”  said 
Harold,  thinking  only  at  that  moment  of  old  Mrs.  Hickes 
and  Dominic.  But  his  mother  was  not  thinking  of  them  only. 

“You  have  a valuable  servant,  it  seems,”  said  Jermyn, 
who  understood  Mrs.  Transome  better  than  her  son  did, 
and  wished  to  smoothen  the  current  of  their  dialogue. 

“ Oh,  one  of  those  wonderful  southern  fellows  that  make 
one’s  life  easy.  He’s  of  no  country  in  particular.  I don’t 
know  whether  he’s  most  of  a Jew,  a Greek,  an  Italian,  or  a 
Spaniard.  He  speaks  five  or  six  languages,  one  as  well  as 
another.  He’s  cook,  valet,  major-domo,  and  secretary  all  in 
one  ; and  what’s  more,  he’s  an  affectionate  fellow — I can 
trust  to  his  attachment.  That’s  a sort  of  human  specimen 
that  doesn’t  grow  here  in  England,  I fancy.  I should  have 
been  badly  off  if  I could  not  have  brought  Dominic.” 

They  sat  down  to  breakfast  with  such  slight  talk  as  this 
going  on.  Each  of  the  party  was  preoccupied  and  uneasy. 
Harold's  mind  was  busy  constructing  probabilities  about 
what  he  should  discover  of  Jermyn’s  mismanagement  or  du- 
bious application  of  funds,  and  the  sort  of  self-command  he 
must  in  the  worst  case  exercise  in  order  to  use  the  man  as 
long  as  he  wanted  him.  Jermyn  was  closely  observing  Har- 
old with  an  unpleasant  sense  that  there  was  an  expression  of 
acuteness  and  determination  about  him  which  would  make 
him  formidable.  He  would  certainly  have  preferred  at  that 
moment  that  there  had  been  no  second  heir  of  the  Transome 
name  to  come  back  upon  him  from  the  East.  Mrs.  Tran- 
some was  not  observing  the  two  men  ; rather,  her  hands  were 
cold,  and  her  whole  person  shaken  by  their  presence  ; she 
seemed  to  hear  and  see  what  they  said  and  did  with  preter- 
natural acuteness,  and  yet  she  was  also  seeing  and  hearing 
what  had  been  said  and  done  many  years  before,  and  feeling 
a dim  terror  about  the  future.  There  were  piteous  sensi- 
bilities in  this  faded  woman,  who  thirty-four  years  ago,  in  the 


THE  RADICAL. 


35 


splendor  of  her  bloom,  had  been  imperious  to  one  of  these 
men,  and  had  rapturously  pressed  the  other  as  an  infant  to 
her  bosom,  and  now  knew  that  she  was  of  little  consequence 
to  either  of  them. 

“ Well,  what  are  the  prospects  about  election  ? ” said 
Harold,  as  the  breakfast  was  advancing.  “ There  are  two 
Whigs  and  one  Conservative  likely  to  be  in  the  field,  I 
know.  What  is  your  opinion  of  the  chances  ? ” 

Mr.  Jermyn  had  a copious  supply  of  words  which  often 
led  him  into  periphrase,  but  he  cultivated  a hesitating  stam- 
mer, which,  with  a handsome  impassiveness  of  face,  except 
when  he  was  smiling  at  a woman,  or  when  the  latent  savage- 
ness of  his  nature  was  thoroughly  roused,  he  had  found  use- 
ful in  many  relations,  especially  in  business.  No  one  could 
have  found  out  that  he  was  not  at  his  ease.  “ My  opinion,” 
he  replied,  “is  in  a state  of  balance  at  present.  This  divis- 
ion of  the  county,  you  are  aware,  contains  one  manufactur- 
ing town  of  the  first  magnitude,  and  several  smaller  ones. 
The  manufacturing  interest  is  widely  dispersed.  So  far — a 
— there  is  a presumption — a — in  favor  of  the  two  Liberal 
candidates.  Still,  with  a careful  canvass  of  the  agricultural 
districts,  such  as  those  we  have  round  us  at  Treby  Magna, 
I think — a — the  auguries — a — would  not  be  unfavorable  to 
the  return  of  a Conservative.  A fourth  candidate  of  good 
position,  who  should  coalesce  with  Mr.  Debarry — a ” 

Here  Mr.  Jermyn  hesitated  for  the  third  time,  and  Har- 
old broke  in. 

“ That  will  not  be  my  line  of  action,  so  we  need  not  dis- 
cuss it.  If  I put  up  it  will  be  as  a Radical  ; and  I fancy,  in 
any  county  that  would  return  Whigs  there  would  be  plenty 
of  voters  to  be  combed  off  by  a Radical  who  offered  him- 
self with  good  pretensions.” 

There  was  the  slightest  possible  quiver  discernible  across 
Jermyn’s  face.  Otherwise  he  sat  as  he  had  done  before,  with 
his  eyes  fixed  abstractedly  on  the  frill  of  a ham  before  him, 
and  his  hand  trifling  with  his  fork.  He  did  not  answer  im- 
mediately, but,  when  he  did,  he  looked  round  steadily  at 
Harold. 

“ I’m  delighted  to  perceive  that  you  have  kept  yourself  so 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  English  politics.” 

“Oh,  of  course,”  said  Harold,  impatiently.  “I’m  aware 
how  things  have  been  going  on  in  England.  I always  meant 
to  come  back  ultimately.  I suppose  I know  the  state  of 
Europe  as  well  as  if  I’d  been  stationary  at  Little  Treby  for 


FELIX  HOLT, 


36 

the  last  fifteen  years.  If  a man  goes  to  the  East,  people 
seem  to  think  he  gets  turned  into  something  like  the  one-eyed 
calender  in  the  ‘ Arabian  Nights  ! ’ ” 

“Yet  I should  think  there  are  some  things  which  people 
who  have  been  stationary  at  Little  Treby  could  tell  you, 
Harold/’  said  Mrs.  Transome.  “ It  did  not  signify  about 
your  holding  Radical  opinions  at  Smyrna  ; but  you  seem  not 
to  imagine  how  your  putting  up  as  a Radical  will  affect  your 
position  here,  and  the  position  of  your  family.  No  one  will 
visit  you.  And  then — the  sort  of  people  who  will  support 
you  ! You  really  have  no  idea  what  an  impression  it  con- 
veys when  you  say  you  are  a Radical.  There  are  none  of  our 
equals  who  will  not  feel  that  you  have  disgraced  yourself.” 

“ Pooh  ! ” said  Harold,  rising  and  walking  along  the  room. 

But  Mrs.  Transome  went  on  with  growing  anger  in  her 
voice — “It  seems  to  me  that  a man  owes  something  to  his 
birth  and  station,  and  has  no  right  to  take  up  this  notion  or 
other,  just  as  it  suits  his  fancy  ; still  less  to  work  at  the  over- 
throw of  his  class.  That  was  what  every  one  said  of  Lord 
Grey,  and  my  family  at  least  is  as  good  as  Lord  Grey’s. 
You  have  wealth  now,  and  might  distinguish  yourself  in  the 
county  ; and  if  you  had  been  true  to  your  colors  as  a gen- 
tleman, you  would  have  had  all  the  greater  opportunity,  be- 
cause the  times  are  so  bad.  The  Debarrys  and  Lord  Wyvern 
would  have  set  all  the  more  store  by  you.  For  my  part,  I 
can’t  conceive  what  good  you  propose  to  yourself.  I only* 
entreat  you  to  think  again  before  you  take  any  decided  step.” 

“ Mother,”  said  Harold,  not  angrily  or  with  any  raising  of 
his  voice,  but  in  a quick,  impatient  manner,  as  if  the  scene 
must  be  got  through  as  quickly  as  possible  ; “ it  is  natural 
that  you  should  think  in  this  way.  Women,  very  properly, 
don't  change  their  views,  but  keep  to  the  notions  in  which 
they  have  been  brought  up.  It  doesn’t  signify  what  they 
think — they  are  not  called  upon  to  judge  or  to  act.  You 
must  leave  me  to  take  my  own  course  in  these  matters,  which 
properly  belong  to  men.  Beyond  that,  I will  gratify  any 
wish  you  may  choose  to  mention.  You  shall  have  a new 
carriage  and  a pair  of  bays  all  to  yourself ; you  shall  have 
the  house  done  up  in  first-rate  style,  and  I am  not  thinking 
of  marrying.  But  let  us  understand  that  there  shall  be  no 
further  collision  between  us  on  subjects  on  which  I must  be 
master  of  my  own  actions.” 

“ And  you  will  put  the  crown  to  the  mortifications  of  my 
life,  Harold.  I don’t  know  who  would  be  a mother  if  she 


THE  RADICAL.  37 

could  foresee  what  a slight  thing  she  will  be  to  her  son  when 
she  is  old.” 

Mrs.  Transome  here  walked  out  of  the  room  by  the  near- 
est way — the  glass  door  open  toward  the  terrace.  Mr.  Jer- 
myn  had  risen  too,  and  his  hands  were  on  the  back  of  his 
chair.  He  looked  quite  impassive  : it  was  not  the  first  time 
he  had  seen  Mrs.  Transome  angry;  but  now,  for  the  first 
time,  he  thought  the  outburst  of  her  temper  would  be  useful 
to  him.  She,  poor  woman,  knew  quite  well  that  she  had  been 
unwise,  and  that  she  had  been  making  herself  disagreeable 
to  Harold  to  no  purpose.  But  half  the  sorrows  of  women 
would  be  averted  if  they  could  repress  the  speech  they  know 
to  be  useless — nay,  the  speech  they  have  resolved  not  to  ut- 
ter. Harold  continued  his  walking  a moment  longer,  and 
then  said  to  Jermyn — 

“ You  smoke  ? ” 

“ No,  I always  defer  to  the  ladies.  Mrs.  Jermyn  is  pecu- 
liarly sensitive  in  such  matters,  and  doesn’t  like  tobacco.” 

Harold,  who,  underneath  all  the  tendencies  which  had 
made  him  a Liberal,  had  intense  personal  pride,  thought, 
“Confound  the  fellow — with  his  Mrs.  Jermyn!  Does  he  think 
we  are  on  a footing  for  me  to  know  anything  about  his  wife?” 

“ Well,  I took  my  hookah  before  breakfast,”  he  said  aloud, 
“ so,  if  you  like,  we’ll  go  into  the  library.  My  father  never 
gets  up  till  midday,  I find.” 

“ Sit  down,  sit  down,”  said  Harold,  as  they  entered  the 
handsome,  spacious  library.  But  he  himself  continued  to 
stand  before  a map  of  the  county  which  he  had  opened  from 
a series  of  rollers  occupying  a compartment  among  the  book- 
shelves. “ The  first  question,  Mr.  Jermyn,  now  you  know 
my  intentions,  is,  whether  you  will  undertake  to  be  my  agent 
in  this  election,  and  help  me  through  ? There’s  no  time  to 
be  lost,  and  I don’t  want  to  lose  my  chance,  as  I may  not 
have  another  for  seven  years.  I understand,”  he  went  on, 
flashing  a look  straight  at  Jermyn,  “ that  you  have  not  taken 
any  conspicuous  course  in  politics,  and  I know  that  Labron 
is  agent  for  the  Debarrys.” 

“ Oh — a — my  dear  sir — a man  necessarily  has  his  political 
convictions,  but  of  what  use  is  it  for  a professional  man — a 
— of  some  education,  to  talk  of  them  in  a little  country 
town  ? There  really  is  no  comprehension  of  public  ques- 
tions in  such  places.  Party  feeling,  indeed,  was  quite  asleep 
here  before  the  agitation  about  the  Catholic  Relief  Bill.  It 
is  true  that  I concurred  with  our  incumbent  in  getting  up  a 


38 


FELIX  HOLT, 


petition  against  the  Reform  Bill,  but  I did  not  state  my 
reasons.  The  weak  points  in  that  Bill  are — a — too  palpable, 
and  I fancy  you  and  I should  not  differ  much  on  that  head. 
The  fact  is,  when  I knew  that  you  were  to  come  back  to  us, 
I kept  myself  in  reserve,  though  I was  much  pressed  by  the 
friends  of  Sir  James  Clement,  the  Ministerial  candidate, 
who  is ” 

“ However,  you  will  act  for  me — that’s  settled  ? ” said 
Harold. 

• “ Certainly,”  said  Jermyn,  inwardly  irritated  by  Harold’s 
rapid  manner  of  cutting  him  short. 

“ Which  of  the  Liberal  candidates,  as  they  call  themselves, 
has  the  better  chance,  eh?” 

“ I was  going  to  observe  that  Sir  James  Clement  has  not 
so  good  a chance  as  Mr.  Garstin,  supposing  that  a third 
Liberal  candidate  presents  himself.  There  are  two  senses 
in  which  a politician  can  be  liberal  ” — here  Mr.  Jermyn 
smiled — “ Sir  James  Clement  is  a poor  baronet,  hoping  for 
an  appointment,  and  can’t  be  expected  to  be  liberal  in  that 
wider  sense  which  commands  majorities/’ 

“ I wish  this  man  were  not  so  much  of  a talker,”  thought 
Harold,  “ he’ll  bore  me.  We  shall  see,”  he  said  aloud, 
“ what  can  be  done  in  the  way  of  combination.  I’ll  come 
down  to  your  office  after  one  o’clock  if  it  will  suit  you  ? ” 

“ Perfectly.” 

“ Ah,  and  you’ll  have  all  the  lists  and  papers  and  neces* 
sary  information  ready  forme  there.  I must  get  up  a din- 
ner for  the  tenants,  and  we  can  invite  whom  we  like  besides 
the  tenants.  Just  now,  I’m  going  over  one  of  the  farms  on 
hand  with  the  bailiff.  By  the  way, that’s  a desperately  bad  bus- 
iness, having  three  farms  unlet — how  comes  that  about,  eh?” 

“ That  is  precisely  what  I wanted  to  say  a few  words  about 
to  you.  You  have  observed  already  how  strongly  Mrs. 
Transome  takes  certain  things  to  heart.  You  can  imagine 
that  she  has  been  severely  tried  in  many  ways.  Mr.  Trap- 
some’s  want  of  health;  Mr.  Durfey’s  habits — a ” 

“Yes,  yes.” 

“ She  is  a woman  for  whom  I naturally  entertain  the 
highest  respect,  and  she  has  had  hardly  any  gratification  for 
many  years,  except  the  sense  of  having  affairs  to  a certain 
extent  in  her  own  hands.  She  objects  to  changes;  she  will 
not  have  a new  style  of  tenants;  she  likes  the  old  stock  of 
farmers  who  milk  their  own  cows,  and  send  their  younger 
daughters  out  to  service;  all  this  makes  it  difficult  to  do  the 


THE  RADICAL. 


39 


best  with  the  estate.  I am  aware  things  are  not  as  they 
ought  to  be,  for,  in  point  of  fact,  improved  agricultural  man- 
agement is  a matter  in  which  I take  considerable  interest, 
and  the  farm  which  I myself  hold  on  the  estate  you  will  see, 
I think,  to  be  in  a superior  condition.  But  Mrs.  Transome 
is  a woman  of  strong  feeling,  and  I would  urge  you,  my  dear 
sir,  to  make  the  changes  which  you  have,  but  which  I had  not 
the  right  to  insist  on,  as  little  painful  to  her  as  possible.” 

“ I shall  know  what  to  do,  sir,  never  fear,”  said  Harold, 
much  offended. 

“ You  will  pardon,  I hope,  a perhaps  undue  freedom  of 
suggestion  from  a man  of  my  age,  who  has  been  so  long  in 
a close  connection  with  the  family  affairs — a — I have  never 
considered  that  connection  simply  in  a light  of  business — 


“ Damn  him,  I’ll  soon  let  him  know  that  I do,”  thought 
Harold.  But  in  proportion  as  he  found  Jermyn’s  manners 
annoying,  he  felt  the  necessity  of  controlling  himself.  He 
despised  all  persons  who  defeated  their  own  projects  by  the 
indulgence  of  momentary  impulses. 

“ I understand,  I understand,”  he  said  aloud.  “You’ve 
had  more  awkward  business  on  your  hands  than  usually 
falls  to  the  share  of  a family  lawyer.  We  shall  set  every- 
thing right  by  degrees.  But  now  as  to  the  canvassing.  I’ve 
made  arrangements  with  a first-rate  man  in  London,  who 
understands  these  matters  thoroughly — a solicitor,  of  course 
— he  has  carried  no  end  of  men  into  Parliament.  I’ll  engage 
him  to  meet  us  at  Dufheld — say  when  ? ” 

The  conversation  after  this  was  driven  carefully  clear  of 
all  angles,  and  ended  with  determined  amicableness.  When 
Harold,  in  his  ride  an  hour  or  two  afterward,  encountered 
his  uncle  shouldering  a gun,  and  followed  by  one  -black  and 
one  liver-spotted  pointer,  his  muscular  person  with  its  red 
eagle  face  set  off  by  a velveteen  jacket  and  leather  leggings, 
Mr.  Lingon’s  first  question  was — 

“Well,  lad,  how  have  you  got  on  with  Jermyn  ? ” 

“Oh,  I don’t  think  I shall  like  the  fellow.  He’s  a sort  of 
amateur  gentleman.  But  I must  make  use  of  him.  I expect 
whatever  I get  out  of  him  will  only  be  something  short  of 
fair  pay  for  what  he  has  got  out  of  us.  But  I shall  see.” 
“Ay,  ay,  use  his  gun  to  bring  down  your  game,  and  after 
that,  beat  the  thief  with  the  butt  end.  That’s  wisdom  and 
justice  and  pleasure  all  in  one — talking  between  ourselves 
as  uncle  and  nephew,  But  I say,  Harold,  I was  going  to  tell 


4o 


FELIX  HOLT, 


you,  now  I come  to  think  of  it,  this  is  rather  a nasty  busi- 
ness, your  calling  yourself  a Radical.  I’ve  been  turning  it 
over  in  after-dinner  speeches,  but  it  looks  awkward — it’s  not 
what  people  are  used  to — it  wants  a good  deal  of  Latin  to 
make  it  go  down.  I shall  be  worried  about  it  at  the  ses- 
sions, and  I can  think  of  nothing  neat  enough  to  carry  about 
in  my  pocket  by  way  of  answer.” 

“ Nonsense,  uncle  ! I remember  what  a good  speechifier 
you  always  were  ; you’ll  never  be  at  a loss.  You  only  want 
a few  more  evenings  to  think  of  it.” 

“But  you’ll  not  be  attacking  the  Church  and  the  institu- 
tions of  the  country — you’ll  not  be  going  those  lengths  ; 
you’ll  keep  up  the  bulwarks,  and  so  on,  eh  ?” 

“ No,  I shan’t  attack  the  Church,  only  the  incomes  of  the 
bishops,  perhaps,  to  make  them  eke  out  the  incomes  of  the 
poor  clergy.” 

“ Well,  well,  I have  no  objection  to  that.  Nobody  likes 
our  bishop  : he’s  all  Greek  and  greediness  ; too  proud  to 
dine  with  his  own  father.  You  may  pepper  the  bishops  a 
little.  But  you’ll  respect  the  constitution  handed  down, 
etc. — and  you’ll  rally  round  the  throne — and  the  King,  God 
bless  him,  and  the  usual  toasts,  eh  ? ” 

“Of  course,  of  course.  I am  a Radical  only  in  rooting 
out  abuses.” 

“ That’s  the  word  I wanted,  my  lad  ! ” said  the  vicar,  slap- 
ping Harold’s  knee.  “ That’s  a spool  to  wind  a speech  on. 
Abuses  is  the  very  word  ; and  if  anybody  shows  himself 
offended,  he’ll  put  the  cap  on  for  himself.” 

“ I remove  the  rotten  timbers,”  said  Harold,  inwardly 
amused,  “ and  substitute  fresh  oak,  that’s  all.” 

“Well  done,  my  boy  ! By  George,  you’ll  be  a speaker  ! 
But  I say,  Harold,  I hope  you’ve  got  a little  Latin  left. 
This  young  Debarry  is  a tremendous  fellow  at  the  classics, 
and  walks  on  stilts  to  any  length.  He’s  one  of  the  new  Con- 
servatives. Old  Sir  Maximus  doesn’t  understand  him  at  all.” 
“That  won’t  do  at  the  hustings,”  said  Harold.  He’ll  get 
knocked  off  his  stilts  pretty  quickly  there.” 

“Bless  me!  it’s  astonishing  how  well  you’re  up  in  the 
affairs  of  the  country,  my  boy.  But  rub  up  a few  quota- 
tions— ‘ Quod  turpe  bonis  decebat  Crispinum — and  that  sort 
of  thing — just  to  show  Debarry  what  you  could  do  if  you 
liked.  But  you  want  to  ride  on  ? ” 

“Yes  ; I have  an  appointment  at  Treby.  Good-bye.” 

“ He’s  a cleverish  chap,”  muttered  the  vicar,  as  Harold 


THE  RADICAL. 


41 


rode  away.  t€  When  he’s  had  plenty  of  English  exercise,  and 
brought  out  his  knuckle  a bit,  he’ll  be  a Lingon  again  as  he 
used  to  be.  I must  go  and  see  how  Arabella  takes  his  being 
a Radical.  It’s  a little  awkward  ; but  a clergyman  must 
keep  peace  in  a family.  Confound  it  ! I’m  not  bound  to 
love  Toryism  better  than  my  own  flesh  and  blood,  and  the 
manor  I shoot  over.  That’s  a heathenish,  Brutus-like  sort  of 
thing,  as  if  Providence  couldn’t  take  care  of  the  country 
without  my  quarrelling  with  my  own  sister’s  son ! ” 

CHAPTER  III. 

’Twas  town,  yet  country  too  ; you  felt  the  warmth 
Of  clustering  houses  in  the  wintry  time  ; 

Supped  with  a friend,  and  went  by  lantern  home. 

Yet  from  your  chamber  window  you  could  hear 
The  tiny  bleat  of  new-yeaned  lambs,  or  see 
The  children  bend  beside  the  hedgerow  banks 
To  pluck  the  primroses. 

Treby  Magna,  on  which  the  Reform  Bill  had  thrust  the 
new  honor  of  being  a polling-place,  had  been,  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  century,  quite  a typical  old  market-town,  lying 
in  pleasant  sleepiness  among  green  pastures,  with  a rush- 
fringed  river  meandering  through  them.  Its  principal  street 
had  various  handsome  and  tall-windowed  brick  houses  with 
walled  gardens  behind  them  ; and  at  the  end,  where  it  wid- 
ened into  the  market-place,  there  was  the  cheerful  rough- 
stuccoed  front  of  that  excellent  inn,  the  Marquis  of  Granby, 
where  the  farmers  put  up  their  gigs,  not  only  on  fair 
and  market  days,  but  on  exceptional  Sundays  when  they 
came  to  church.  And  the  church  was  one  of  those  fine  old 
English  structures  worth  travelling  to  see,  standing  in  a 
broad  church-yard  with  a line  of  solemn  yew-trees  beside 
it,  and  lifting  a majestic  tower  and  spire  far  above 
the  red-and-purple  roofs  of  the  town.  It  was  not  large 
enough  to  hold  all  the  parishioners  of  a parish  which 
stretched  over  distant  villages  and  hamlets ; but  then  they 
were  never  so  unreasonable  as  to  wish  to  be  all  in  at  once, 
and  had  never  complained  that  the  space  of  a large  side- 
chapel  was  taken  up  by  the  tombs  of  the  Debarrys,  and  shut 
in  by  a handsome  iron  screen.  For  when  the  black  Bene- 
dictines ceased  to  pray  and  chant  in  this  church,  when  the 
Blessed  Virgin  and  St.  Gregory  were  expelled,  the  Debarrys, 
as  lords  of  the  manor,  naturally  came  next  to  Providence 
and  took  the  place  of  the  saints.  Long  before  that  time, 
indeed,  there  had  been  a Sir  Maximus  Debarry  who  had  been 
at  the  fortifying  of  the  old  castle,  which  now  stood  in  ruins 


42 


FELIX  HOLT, 


in  the  midst  of  the  green  pastures,  and  with  its  sheltering 
wall  toward  the  north  made  an  excellent  strawyard  for  the 
pigs  of  Wace  & Co.,  brewers  of  the  celebrated  Treby  beer. 
Wace  & Co.  did  not  stand  alone  in  the  town  as  prosperous 
traders  on  a large  scale,  to  say  nothing  of  those  who  had 
retired  from  business  ; and  in  no  country  town  of  the  same 
small  size  as  Treby  was  there  a larger  proportion  of  families 
who  had  handsome  sets  of  china  without  handles,  hereditary 
punch-bowls,  and  large  silver  ladles  with  a Queen  Anne’s 
guinea  in  the  centre.  Such  people  naturally  took  tea  and 
supped  together  frequently  ; and  as  there  was  no  professional 
man  or  tradesman  in  Treby  who  was  not  connected  by 
business,  if  not  by  blood,  with  the  farmers  of  the  district, 
the  richer  sort  of  these  were  much  invited,  and  gave  invita- 
tions in  their  turn.  They  played  at  whist,  ate  and  drank 
generously,  praised  Mr.  Pitt  and  the  war  as  keeping  up 
prices  and  religion,  and  were  very  humorous  about  each 
other’s  property,  having  much  the  same  coy  pleasure  in 
allusions  to  their  secret  ability  to  purchase,  as  blushing  lasses 
sometimes  have  in  jokes  about  their  secret  preferences.  The 
rector  was  always  of  the  Debarry  family,  associated  only 
with  county  people,  and  was  much  respected  for  his  affa- 
bility ; a clergyman  who  would  have  taken  tea  with  the 
townspeople  would  have  given  a dangerous  shock  to  the 
mind  of  a Treby  churchman. 

Such  was  the  old-fashioned,  grazing,  brewing,  wool-pack- 
ing, cheese-loading  life  of  Treby  Magna,  until  there  befell 
new  conditions,  complicating  its  relation  with  the  rest  of 
the  world,  and  gradually  awakening  in  it  that  higher  con- 
sciousness which  is  known  to  bring  higher  pains.  First  came 
the  canal  ; next,  the  working  of  the  coal-mines  at  Sproxton, 
two  miles  off  the  town  ; and  thirdly,  the  discovery  of  a saline 
spring,  which  suggested  to  a too  constructive  brain  the  pos- 
sibility of  turning  Treby  Magna  into  a fashionable  watering- 
place.  So  daring  an  idea  was  not  originated  by  a native 
Trebian,  but  by  a young  lawyer  who  came  from  a distance, 
knew  the  dictionary  by  heart,  and  was  probably  an  ille- 
gitimate son  of  somebody  or  other.  The  idea,  although  it 
promised  an  increase  of  wealth  to  the  town,  was  not  well 
received  at  first  ; ladies  objected  to  seeing  “ objects  ” drawn 
about  in  hand-carriages,  the  doctor  foresaw  the  advent  of 
unsound  practitioners,  and  most  retail  tradesmen  concurred 
with  him  that  new  doings  were  usually  for  the  advantage  of 
new  people.  The  more  unanswerable  reasoners  urged  that 


THE  RADICAL. 


43 


Treby  had  prospered  without  baths,  and  it  was  yet  to  be 
seen  how  it  would  prosper  with  them  ; while  a report  that 
the  proposed  name  for  them  was  Bethesda  Spa,  threatened 
to  give  the  whole  affair  a blasphemous  aspect.  Even  Sir 
Maximus  Debarry,  who  was  to  have  an  unprecedented  return 
for  the  thousands  he  would  lay  out  on  a pump-room  and 
hotel,  regarded  the  thing  as  a little  too  new,  and  held  back 
for  some  time.  But  the  persuasive  powers  of  the  young 
lawyer,  Mr.  Matthew  Jermyn,  together  with  the  opportune 
opening  of  a stone-quarry,  triumphed  at  last  ; the  handsome 
buildings  were  erected,  an  excellent  guide-book  and  descrip- 
tive cards,  surmounted  by  vignettes,  were  printed,  and  Treby 
Magna  became  conscious  of  certain  facts  in  its  own  history 
of  which  it  had  previously  been  in  contented  ignorance. 

But  it  was  all  in  vain.  The  Spa,  for  some  mysterious 
reason,  did  not  succeed.  Some  attributed  the  failure  to  the 
coal-mines  and  the  canal ; others  to  the  peace,  which  had 
had  ruinous  effects  on  the  country  ; and  others,  who  dis- 
liked Jermyn,  to  the  original  folly  of  the  plan.  Among  these 
last  was  Sir  Maximus  himself,  who  never  forgave  the  too 
persuasive  attorney  ; it  was  Jermyn’s  fault  not  only  that  a 
useless  hotel  had  been  built,  but  that  he,  Sir  Maximus,  being 
straitened  for  money,  had  at  last  let  the  building,  with  the 
adjacent  land  lying  on  the  river,  on  a long  lease,  on  the  sup- 
position that  it  was  to  be  turned  into  a tape  manufactory — 
a bitter  thing  to  any  gentleman,  and  especially  to  the  repre- 
sentative of  one  of  the  oldest  families  in  England. 

In  this  way  it  happened  that  Treby  Magna  gradually  passed 
from  being  simply  a respectable  market  town — the  heart  of  a 
great  rural  district,  where  the  trade  was  only  such  as  had 
close  relations  with  the  local  landed  interest — and  took  on 
the  more  complex  life  brought  by  mines  and  manufactures, 
which  belong  more  directly  to  the  great  circulating  system 
of  the  nation  than  to  the  local  system  to  which  they  had  been 
superadded  ; and  in  this  way  it  was  that  Trebian  Dissent 
gradually  altered  its  character.  Formerly  it  had  been  of  a 
quiescent,  well-to-do  kind,  represented  architecturally  by  a 
small,  venerable,  dark-pewed  chapel,  built  by  Presbyterians, 
but  long  occupied  by  a sparse  congregation  of  Independents, 
who  were  as  little  moved  by  doctrinal  zeal  as  their  church- 
going neighbors,  and  did  not  feel  themselves  deficient  in 
religious  liberty,  inasmuch  as  they  were  not  hindered  from 
occasionally  slumbering  in  their  pews,  and  were  not  obliged 
to  go  regularly  to  the  weekly  prayer-meeting.  But  when 


44 


FELIX  HOLT, 


stone-pits  and  coal-pits  made  new  hamlets  that  threatened 
to  spread  up  to  the  very  town,  when  the  tape-weavers  came 
with  their  news-reading  inspectors  and  book-keepers,  the 
Independent  chapel  began  to  be  filled  with  eager  men  and 
women,  to  whom  the  exceptional  possession  of  religious  truth 
was  the  condition  which  reconciled  them  to  a meagre  exist- 
ence, and  made  them  feel  in  secure  alliance  with  the  unseen 
but  supreme  rule  of  a world  in  which  their  own  visible  part 
was  small.  There  were  Dissenters  in  Treby  now  who  could 
not  be  regarded  by  the  Church  people  in  the  light  of  old 
neighbors  to  whom  the  habit  of  going  to  chapel  was  an  inno- 
cent, unenviable  inheritance  along  with  a particular  house 
and  garden,  a tan-yard,  or  a grocery  business — Dissenters 
who,  in  their  turn,  without  meaning  to  be  in  the  least  abus- 
ive, spoke  of  the  high-bred  rector  as  a blind  leader  of  the 
blind.  And  Dissent  was  not  the  only  thing  that  the  times 
had  altered  ; prices  had  fallen,  poor-rates  had  risen,  rent  and 
tithe  were  not  elastic  enough,  and  the  farmer’s  fat  sorrow  had 
become  lean  ; he  began  to  speculate  on  causes,  and  to  trace 
things  back  to  that  causeless  mystery,  the  cessation  of  one- 
pound  notes.  Thus,  when  political  agitation  swept  in  a cur- 
rent* through  the  country,  Treby  Magna  was  prepared  to* 
vibrate.  The  Catholic  Emancipation  Bill  opened  the  eyes 
of  neighbors  and  made  them  aware  how  very  injurious  they 
were  to  each  other  and  to  the  welfare  of  mankind  generally. 
Mr.  Tiliot,  the  Church  spirit-merchant,  knew  now  that  Mr. 
Nuttwood,  the  obliging  grocer,  was  one  of  those  Dissenters, 
Deists,  Socinians,  Papists,  and  Radicals,  who  were  in  league 
to  destroy  the  Constitution.  A retired  old  London  trades- 
man, who  was  believed  to  understand  politics/said  that  think- 
ing people  must  wish  George  III.  were  alive  again  in  all  his 
early  vigor  of  mind  : and  even  the  farmers  became  less 
materialistic  in  their  view  of  causes,  and  referred  much  to 
the  agency  of  the  devil  and  the  Irish  Romans.  The  rector, 
the  Reverend  Augustus  Debarry,  really  a fine  specimen  of  the 
old-fashioned  aristocratic  clergyman,  preaching  short  ser- 
mons, understanding  business,  and  acting  liberally  about  his 
tithe,  had  never  before  found  himself  in  collision  with  Dis- 
senters ; but  now  he  began  to  feel  that  these  people  were  a 
nuisance  in  the  parish,  that  his  brother  Sir  Maximus  must 
take  care  lest  they  should  get  land  to  build  more  chapels, 
and  that  it  might  not  have  been  a bad  thing  if  the  law  had 
furnished  him  as  a magistrate  with  a power  of  putting  a stop 
to  the  political  sermons  of  the  Independent  preacher^  which? 


THE  RADICAL. 


45 


in’their  way,  were  as  pernicious  sources  of  intoxication  as  the 
beerhouses.  The  Dissenters,  on  their  side,  were  not  dis- 
posed to  sacrifice  the  cause  of  truth  and  freedom  to  a tem- 
porizing mildness  of  language  ; but  they  defended  them- 
selves from  the  charge  of  religious  indifference,  and  solemnly 
disclaimed  any  lax  expectations  that  Catholics  were  likely  to 
be  saved — urging,  on  the  contrary,  that  they  were  not  too 
hopeful' about  Protestants  who  adhered  to  a bloated  and 
worldly  Prelacy.  Thus  Treby  Magna,  which  had  lived  quietly 
through  the  great  earthquakes  of  the  French  Revolution  and 
the  Napoleonic  wars,  which  had  remained  unmoved  by  the 
“ Rights  of  Man,”  and  saw  little  in  Mr.  Cobbett’s  “ Weekly 
Register  ” except  that  he  held  eccentric  views  about  pota- 
toes, began  at  last  ;to  know  the  higher  pains  of  a dim  politi- 
cal consciousness  ; and  the  development  had  been  greatly 
helped  by  the  recent  agitation  about  the  Reform  Bill.  Tory, 
Whig,  and  Radical  did  not  perhaps  become  clearer  in  their 
definition  of  each  other  ; but  the  names  seemed  to  acquire 
so  strong  a stamp  of  honor  or  infamy,  that  definitions  would 
only  have  weakened  the  impression.  As  to  the  short  and 
easy  method  of  judging  opinions  by  the  personal  character 
of  those  who  held  them,  it  was  liable  to  be  much  frustrated 
in  Treby.  It  so  happened  in  that  particular  town  that  the 
Reformers  were  not  all  of  them  large-hearted  patriots  or 
ardent  lovers  of  justice  ; indeed,  one  of  them,  in  the  very 
midst  of  the  agitation,  was  detected  in  using  unequal  scales 
— a fact  to  which  many  Tories  pointed  with  disgust  as  show- 
ing plainly  enough,  without  further  argument,  that  the  cry 
for  a change  in  the  representative  system  was  hollow  trickery. 
Again,  the  Tories  were  far  from  being  all  oppressors,  dis- 
posed to  grind  down  the  working  classes  into  serfdom  ; and 
it  was  undeniable  that  the  inspector  at  the  tape  manufactory, 
who  spoke  with  much  eloquence  on  the  extension  of  the 
suffrage,  was  a more  tyrannical  personage  than  open-handed 
Mr.  Wace,  whose  chief  political  tenet  was  that  it  was  all 
nonsense  to  give  men  votes  when  they  had  np  stake  in  the 
country.  On  the  other  hand  there  were  some  Tories  who 
gave  themselves  a great  deal  of  leisure  to  abuse  hypocrites, 
Radicals,  Dissenters,  and  atheism  generally,  but  whose  in- 
flamed faces,  theistic  swearing,  and  frankness  in  expressing 
a wish  to  borrow,  certainly  did  not  mark  them  out  strongly 
a^  holding  opinions  likely  to  save  society. 

The  Reformers  had  triumphed  : it  was  clear  that  the 
wheels  were  going  whither  they  were  pulling,  and  they  were 


46 


FELIX  HOLT, 


in  fine  spirits  for  exertion.  But  if  they  were  pulling  toward 
the  country’s  ruin,  there  was  the  more  need  for  others  to  hang 
on  behind  and  get  the  wheels  to  stick  if  possible.  In  Treby, 
as  elsewhere,  people  were  told  they  must  “ rally  ” at  the  com- 
ing election  ; but  there  was  now  a large  number  of  waverers 
— men  of  flexible,  practical  minds,  who  were  not  such  bigots 
as  to  cling  to  any  views  when  a good  tangible  reason  could 
be  urged  against  them  ; while  some  regarded  it  as  the  most 
neighborly  thing  to  hold  a little  with  both  sides,  and  were 
not  sure  that  they  should  rally  or  vote  at  all.  It  seemed  an 
invidious  thing  to  vote  for  one  gentleman  rather  than  another. 

These  social  changes  in  Treby  parish  are  comparatively 
public  matters,  and  this  history  is  chiefly  concerned  with  the 
private  lot  of  a few  men  and  women  ; but  there  is  no  private 
life  which  has  not  been  determined  by  a wider  public  life, 
from  the  time  when  the  primeval  milkmaid  had  to  wander 
with  the  wanderings  of  her  clan,  because  the  cow  she  milked 
was  one  of  a herd  which  had  made  the  pastures  bare.  Even 
in  that  conservatory  existence  where  the  fair  Camellia  is 
sighed  for  by  the  noble  young  Pine-apple,  neither  of  them 
needing  to  care  about  the  frost,  or  rain  outside,  there  is  a 
nether  apparatus  of  hot  water  pipes  liable  to  cool  down  on 
a strike  of  the  gardeners  or  a scarcity  of  coal.  And  the  lives 
we  are  about  to  look  back  upon  do  not  belong  to  those  con- 
servatory species  ; they  are  rooted  in  the  common  earth,  hav- 
ing to  endure  all  the  ordinary  chances  of  past  and  present 
weather.  As  to  the  weather  of  1832,  the  Zadkiel  of  that 
time  had  predicted  that  the  electrical  condition  of  the  clouds 
in  the  political  hemisphere  would  produce  unusual  pertur- 
bations in  organic  existence,  and  he  would  perhaps  have  seen 
a fulfillment  of  his  remarkable  prophecy  in  that  mutual  in- 
fluence of  dissimilar  destinies  which  we  shall  see  gradually 
unfolding  itself.  For  if  the  mixed  political  conditions  of 
Treby  Magna  had  not  been  acted  on  by  the  passing  of  the 
Reform  Bill,  Mr.  Harold  Transome  would  not  have  present- 
ed himself  as  a candidate  for  North  Loamshire,  Treby  would 
not  have  been  a polling-place,  Mr.  Matthew  Jermyn  would 
not  have  been  on  affable  terms  with  a Dissenting  preacher 
and  his  flock,  and  the  venerable  town  would  not  have  been 
placarded  with  handbills,  more  or  less  complimentary  and 
retrospective — conditions  in  this  case  essential  to  the 
“ where,”  and  the  “ what,”  without  which,  as  the  learned 
know,  there  can  be  no  event  whatever. 

For  example,  it  was  through  these  conditions  that  a young 


THE  RADICAL. 


47 


man  named  Felix  Holt  made  a considerable  difference  in  the 
life  of  Harold  Transome,  though  nature  and  fortune  seemed 
to  have  done  what  they  could  to  keep  the  lots  of  the  two 
men  quite  aloof  from  each  other.  Felix  was  heir  to  nothing 
better  than  a quack  medicine  ; his  mother  lived  up  a back 
street  in  Treby  Magna,  and  her  sitting-room  was  ornamented 
with  her  best  tea-tray  and  several  framed  testimonials  to  the 
virtues  of  Holt’s  Cathartic  Lozenges  and  Holt’s  Restorative 
Elixir.  There  could  hardly  have  been  a lot  less  like  Harold 
Transome’s  than  this  of  tfye  quack  doctor’s  son,  except  in 
the  superficial  facts  that  he  called  himself  a Radical,  that  he 
was  the  only  son  of  his  mother,  and  that  he  had  lately  re- 
turned to  his  home  with  ideas  and  resolves  not  a little  dis- 
turbing to  that  mother’s  mind. 

But  Mrs.  Holt,  unlike  Mrs.  Transome,  was  much  disposed 
to  reveal  her  troubles,  and  was  not  without  a counsellor  into 
whose  ear  she  could  pour  them.  On  this  second  of  Septem- 
ber, when  Mr.  Harold  Transome  had  had  his  first  interview 
with  Jermyn,  and  when  the  attorney  went  back  to  his  office 
with  new  views  of  canvassing  in  his  mind,  Mrs.  Holt  had  put 
on  her  bonnet  as  early  as  nine  o’clock  in  the  morning,  and 
had  gone  to  see  the  Reverend  Rufus  Lyon,  minister  of  the 
Independent  Chapel  usually  spoken  of  as  “Malthouse  Yard.” 

CHAPTER  IV. 

“ A pious  and  painful  preacher.” — Fuller. 

Mr.  Lyon  lived  in  a small  house,  not  quite  so  good  as  the 
parish  clerk’s,  adjoining  the  entry  which  led  to  the  Chapel 
Yard.  The  new  prosperity  of  Dissent  at  Treby  had  led  to 
an  enlargement  of  the  chapel,  which  absorbed  all  extra 
funds  and  left  none  for  the  enlargement  of  the  minister’s 
income.  He  sat  this  morning,  as  usual,  in  a low  up-stairs 
room,  called  his  study,  which,  by  means  of  a closet  capable 
of  holding  his  bed,  served  also  as  a sleeping-room.  The 
book-shelves  did  not  suffice  for  his  store  of  old  books,  which 
lay  about  him  in  piles  so  arranged  as  to  leave  narrow  lanes 
between  them  ; for  the  minister  was  much  given  to  walking 
about  during  his  hours  of  meditation,  and  very  narrow  pas- 
sages would  serve  for  his  small  legs,  unencumbered  by  any 
other  drapery  than  his  black  silk  stockings  and  the  flexible, 
though  prominent,  bows  of  black  ribbon  that  tied  his  knee- 
breeches.  He  was  walking  about  now,  with  his  hands 
clasped  behind  him,  an  attitude  in  which  his  body  seemed 
to  bear  about  the  same  proportion  to  his  head  as  the  lower 


48 


FELIX  HOLT, 


part  of  a stone  Hermes  bears  to  the  carven  image  that 
crowns  it.  His  face  looked  old  and  worn,  yet  the  curtain  of 
hair  that  fell  from  his  bald  crown  and  hung  about  his  neck 
retained  much  of  its  original  auburn  tint,  and  his  large, 
brown,  short-sighted  eyes  were  still  clear  and  bright.  At 
the  first  glance,  every  one  thought  him  a very  odd-looking 
rusty  old  man  ; the  free-school  boys  often  hooted  after  him, 
and  called  him  “ Revelations  ” ; and  to  many  respectable 
Church  people,  old  Lyon’s  little  legs  and  large  head  seemed 
to  make  Dissent  additionally  preposterous.  But  he  was  too 
short-sighted  to  notice  those  who  tittered  at  him — too  absent 
from  the  world  of  small  facts  and  petty  impulses  in  which 
titterers  live.  With  Satan  to  argue  against  on  matters  of 
vital  experience  as  well  as  of  church  government,  with  great 
texts  to  meditate  on,  which  seemed  to  get  deeper  as  he  tried 
to  fathom  them,  it  had  never  occurred  to  him  to  reflect  what 
sort  of  image  his  small  person  made  on  the  retina  of  a light- 
minded  beholder.  The  good  Rufus  had  his  ire  and  his 
egoism  ; but  they  existed  only  as  the  red  heat  which  gave 
force  to  his  belief  and  his  teaching.  He  was  susceptible 
concerning  the  true  office  of  deacons  in  the  primitive  Church, 
and  his  small  nervous  body  was  jarred  from  head  to  foot  by 
the  concussion  of  an  argument  to  which  he  saw  no  answer. 
In  fact,  the  only  moments  when  he  could  be  said  to  be 
really  conscious  of  his  body,  were  when  he  trembled  under 
the  pressure  of  some  agitating  thought. 

He  was  meditating  on  the  text  for  his  Sunday  morning 
sermon,  “ And  all  the  people  said,  Amen  ” — a mere  mustard- 
seed  of  a text,  which  had  split  at  first  only  into  two  divisions, 
“ What  was  said,”  and  “ Who  said  it  ” ; but  these  were  grow- 
ing into  a many-branched  discourse,  and  the  preacher’s  eyes 
dilated,  and  a smile  played  about  his  mouth  till,  as  his  man- 
ner was,  when  he  felt  happily  inspired,  he  had  begun  to 
utter  his  thoughts  aloud  in  the  varied  measure  and  cadence 
habitual  to  him,  changing  from  a rapid  but  distinct  under- 
tone to  a loud  emphatic  rallentando. 

“ My  brethren,  do  you  think  that  great  shout  was  raised 
in  Israel  by  each  man’s  waiting  to  say  ‘ amen  ’ till  his  neigh- 
bors had  said  amen?  Do  you  think  there  will  be  a great 
shout  for  the  right — the  shout  of  a nation  as  of  one  man, 
rounded  and  whole,  like  the  voice  of  the  archangel  that 
bound  together  all  the  listeners  of  earth  and  heaven — if 
every  Christian  of  you  peeps  round  to  see  what  his  neigh- 
bors in  good  coats  are  doing,  or  else  puts  his  hat  before  his 


The  radical. 


49 


face  that  he  may  shout  and  never  be  heard  ? But  this  is 
what  you  do  : when  the  servant  of  God  stands  up  to  deliver 
his  message,  do  you  lay  your  souls  beneath  the  Word  as  you 
set  out  your  plants  beneath  the  fallen  rain  ? No  ; one  of 
you  sends  his  eyes  to  all  corners,  he  smothers  his  soul  with 
small  questions,  ‘What  does  brother  Y.  think?’  ‘Is  this 
doctrine  high  enough  for  brother  Z.  ? ’ ‘ Will  the  church 

members  be  pleased?’  And  another ” 

Here  the  door  was  opened,  and  old  Lyddy,  the  minister’s 
servant,  put  in  her  head  to  say,  in  a tone  of  despondency, 
finishing  with  a groan,  “ Here  is  Mrs.  Holt  wanting  to  speak  to 
you  ; she  says  she  comes  out  of  season,  but  she’s  in  trouble.” 
“ Lyddy,”  said  Mr.  Lyon,  falling  at  once  into  a quiet  con- 
versational tone,  “ if  you  are  wrestling  with  the  enemy,  let 
me  refer  you  to  Ezekiel  the  thirteenth*  and  twenty-second, 
and  beg  of  you  not  to  groan.  It  is  a stumbling-block  and 
offence  to  my  daughter  ; she  would  take  no  broth  yesterday, 
because  she  said  you  had  cried  into  it.  Thus  you  cause  the 
truth  to  be  lightly  spoken  of,  and  make  the  enemy  rejoice. 
If  your  faceache  gives  him  an  advantage,  take  a little  warm 
ale  with  your  meat — I do  not  grudge  the  money.” 

“ If  I thought  my  drinking  warm  ale  would  hinder  poor 
dear  Miss  Esther  from  speaking  light — but  she  hates  the 
smell  of  it.” 

“Answer  not  again, Lyddy, but  send  upMistress  Holt  to  me.” 
Lyddy  closed  the  door  immediately. 

“ I lack  grace  to  deal  with  these  weak  sisters,”  said  the 
minister,  again  thinking  aloud,  and  walking.  “ Their  needs 
lie  too  much  out  of  the  track  of  my  meditations,  and  take 
me  often  unawares*  Mistress  Holt  is  another  who  darkens 
counsel  by  words  without  knowledge,  and  angers  the  reason 
of  the  natural  man.  Lord,  give  me  patience.  My  sins  were 
heavier  to  bear  than  this  woman’s  folly.  Come  in,  Mrs. 
Holt — come  in.” 

He  hastened  to  disencumber  a chair  of  Matthew  Henry's 
Commentary,  and  begged  his  visitor  to  be  seated.  She  was 
a tall  elderly  woman,  dressed  in  black,  with  a light-brown 
front  and  a black  band  over  her  forehead.  She  moved  the 
chair  a little  and  seated  herself  in  it  with  some  emphasis, 
looking  fixedly  at  the  opposite  wall  with  a hurt  and  argu- 
mentative expression.  Mr.  Lyon  had  placed  himself  in  the 
chair  against  his  desk,  and  waited  with  the  resolute  resigna- 
tion of  a patient  who  is  about  to  undergo  an  operation. 
But  his  visitor  did  not  speak. 


FELIX  HOLT, 


5° 

“You  have  something  on  your  mind,  Mrs.  Holt?”  he 
said,  at  last. 

“ Indeed  I have,  sir,  else  I shouldn’t  be  here.” 

“ Speak  freely.” 

“ It’s  well  known  to  you,  Mr.  Lyon,  that  my  husband,  Mr. 
Holt,  came  from  the  north,  and  was  a member  in  Malthouse 
Yard  long  before  you  began  to  be  pastor  of  it,  which  was 
seven  year  ago  last  Michaelmas.  It’s  the  truth,  Mr.  Lyon, 
and  I’m  not  that  woman  to  sit  here  and  say  it  if  it  wasn’t  true.” 

“Certainly,  it  is  true.” 

“ And  if  my  husband  had  been  alive  when  you’d  come  to 
preach  upon  trial,  he’d  have  been  as  good  a judge  of  your 
gifts  as  Mr.  Nuttwood  or  Mr.  Muscat,  though  whether  he’d 
have  agreed  with  some  that  your  doctrine  wasn’t  high  enough, 
I can’t  say.  For  myself, I’ve  my  opinion  about  high  doctrine.” 

“Was  it  my  preaching  you  came  to  speak  about?”  said 
the  minister,  hurrying  in  the  question. 

“ No,  Mr.  Lyon,  I’m  not  that  woman.  But  this  I will  say, 
for  my  husband  died  before  your  time,  that  he  had  a won- 
derful gift  in  prayer,  as  the  old’members  well  know,  if  any- 
body likes  to  ask  ’em,  not  believing  my  words,  and  he  be- 
lieved himself  that  the  receipt  for  the  Cancer  Cure,  which 
I’ve  sent  out  in  bottles  till  this  very  last  April  before  Sep- 
tember as  now  is,  and  have  bottles  standing  by  me — he  be- 
lieved it  was  sent  to  him  in  answer  to  prayer  ; and  nobody 
can  deny  it,  for  he  prayed  most  regular,  and  read  out  of  the 
green  baize  Bible.” 

Mrs.Holt  paused, appearing  to  think  thatMr.Lyon  had  been 
successfully  confuted,  and  should  show  himself  convinced. 

“ Has  any  one  been  aspersing  your  husband’s  character  ? ” 
said  Mr.  Lyon,  with  a slight  initiative  toward  that  relief  of 
groaning  for  which  he  had  reproved  Lyddy. 

“ Sir,  they  daredn’t.  For  though  he  was  a man  of  prayer, 
he  didn’t  want  skill  and  knowledge  to  find  things  out  for 
himself  ; and  that’s  what  I used  to  say  to  my  friends  when 
they  wondered  at  my  marrying  a man  from  Lancashire,  with 
no  trade  nor  fortune,  but  what  he’d  got  in  his  head.  But  my 
husband’s  tongue  ’ud  have  been  a fortune  to  anybody,  and 
there  was  many  a one  said  it  was  as  good  as  a dose  of  physic 
to  hear  him  talk  ; not  but  what  that  got  him  into  trouble  in 
Lancashire,  but  he  always  said,  if  the  worst  came  to  the 
worst,  he  could  go  and  preach  to  the  blacks.  But  he  did 
better  than  that,  Mr.  Lyon,  for  he  married  me  ; and  this  I 
will  say,  that  for  age,  and  conduct,  and  managing ” 


THE  RADICAL. 


51 


“Mistress  Holt,”  interrupted  the  minister,  “these  are  not 
the  things  whereby  we  may  edify  one  another.  Let  me  beg 
of  you  to  be  as  brief  as  you  can.  My  time  is  not  my  own.” 

“ Well,  Mr.  Lyon,  I’ve  a right  to  my  own  character  ; and 
I’m  one  of  your  congregation, [though  I’m  not  a church  mem- 
ber, for  I was  born  in  the  General  Baptist  connection  : and 
as  for  being  saved  without  works,  there’s  a many,  I dare  say, 
can’t  do  without  that  doctrine  ; but  I thank  the  Lord  I never 
needed  to  put  myself  on  a level  with  the  thief  on  the  cross. 
I’ve  done  my  duty,  and  more,  if  anybody  comes  to  that ; for 
I’ve  gone  without  my  bit  of  meat  to  make  broth  for  a sick 
neighbor  : and  if  there’s  any  of  the  church  members  say 
they’ve  done  the  same,  I’d  ask  them  if  they  had  the  sinking 
at  the  stomach  as  I have  ; for  I’ve  ever  strove  to  do  the  right 
thing,  and  more,  for  good-natured  I always  was  ; and  I little 
thought,  after  being  respected  by  everybody,  I should  come 
to  be  reproached  by  my  own  son.  And  my  husband  said, 
when  he  was  a-dying — ‘ Mary,’  he  said,  4 the  Elixir,  and  the 
Pills,  and  the  Cure  will  support  you,  for  they’ve  a great 
name  in  all  the  country  round,  and  you’ll  pray  for  a blessing 
on  them.’  And  so  I’ve  done,  Mr.  Lyon  ; and  to  say  they’re 
not  good  medicines,  when  they’ve  been  taken  for  fifty  miles 
round  by  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  and  nobody  speaking 
against  ’em  but  Dr.  Lukin,  it  seems  to  me  it’s  a flying  in  the 
face  of  Heaven  ; for  if  it  was  wrong  to  take  the  medicines, 
couldn’t  the  blessed  Lord  have  stopped  it  ? ” 

Mrs.  Holt  was  not  given  to  tears  ; she  was  much  sustained 
by  conscious  unimpeachableness,  and  by  an  argumentative 
tendency  which  usually  checks  the  too  great  activity  of  the 
lachrymal  gland  ; nevertheless  her  eyes  had  become  moist, 
her  fingers  played  on  her  knee  in  an  agitated  manner,  and 
she  finally  plucked  a bit  of  her  gown  and  held  it  with  great 
nicety  between  her  thumb  and  finger.  Mr.  Lyon,  however, 
by  listening  attentively,  had  begun  partly  to  divine  the 
source  of  her  trouble. 

“ Am  I wrong  in  gathering  from  what  you  say,  Mistress 
Holt,  that  your  son  has  objected  in  some  way  to  your  sale  of 
your  late  husband’s  medicines  ? ” 

“ Mr.  Lyon,  he’s  masterful  beyond  everything,  and  he 
talks  more  than  his  father  did.  I’ve  got  my  reason,  Mr. 
Lyon,  and  if  anybody  talks  sense  I can  follow  him  ; but 
Felix  talks  so  wild,  and  contradicts  his  mother.  And  what 
do  you  think  he  says,  after  giving  up  his  ’prenticeship,  and 
going  off  to  study  at  Glasgow,  and  getting  through  all  the 


52 


FELIX  HOLT, 


bit  of  money  his  father  saved  for  his  bringing-up — what  has 
all  his  learning  come  to  ? He  says  I'd  better  never  open  my 
Bible,  for  it’s  as  bad  poison  to  me  as  the  pills  are  to  half  the 
people  as  swallow  ’em.  You’ll  not  speak  of  this  again,  Mr. 
Lyon — I don’t  think  ill  enough  of  you  to  believe^#/.  For  I 
suppose  a Christian  can  understand^the  word  o’ God  without 
going  to  Glasgow,  and  there's  texts  upon  texts  about  oint- 
ment and  medicine,  and  there’s  one  as  might  have  been  for 
a receipt  of  my  husband’s — it’s  just  as  if  it  was  a riddle,  and 
Holt’s  Elixir  was  the  answer.”  ♦ 

“ Your  son  uses  rash  words,  Mistress  Holt,”  said  the  min- 
ister, “ but  it  is  quite  true  that  we  may  err  in  giving  a too  pri- 
vate interpretation  to  the  Scripture.  The  word  of  God  has 
to  satisfy  the  larger  needs  of  His  people,  like  the  rain  and 
the  sunshine — which  no  man  must  think  to  be  meant  for  his 
own  patch  of  seed-ground  solely.  Will  it  not  be  well  that  I 
should  see  your  son,  and  talk  with  him  on  these  matters?  He 
was  at  chapel,  I observe,  and  I suppose  I am  to  be  his  pastor.” 
“ That  was  what  I wanted  to  ask  you,  Mr.  Lyon.  For 
perhaps  he’ll  listen  to  you,  and  not  talk  you  down  as  he  does 
his  poor  mother.  For  after  we’d  been  to  chapel,  he  spoke 
better  of  you  than  he  does  of  most : he  said  you  was  a fine  old 
fellow,  and  an  old-fashioned  Puritan — he  uses  dreadful  lan- 
guage, Mr.  Lyon  ; but  I saw  he  didn’t  mean  you  ill,  for  all 
that.  He  calls  most  folks’s  religion  rottenness  ; and  yet  an- 
other time  he’ll  tell  me  I ought  to  feel  myself  a sinner,  and 
do  God’s  will  and  not  my  own.  But  it’s  my  belief  he  says 
first  one  thing  and  then  another  only  to  abuse  his  mother. 
Or  else  he’s  going  off  his  head,  and  must  be  sent  to  a ’sylum. 
But  if  he  writes  to  the  North  Loamshire  Herald  first,  to 
tell  everybody  the  medicines  are  good  for  nothing,  how  can 
I ever  keep  him  and  myself?  ” 

“ Tell  him  I shall  feel  favored  if  he  will  come  and  see  me 
this  evening,”  said  Mr.  Lyon,  not  without  a little  prejudice  in 
favor  of  the  young  man,  whose  language  about  the  preacher 
in  Malthouse  Yard  did  not  seem  to  him  to  be  altogether 
dreadful.  “ Meanwhile,  my  friend,  I counsel  you  to  send 
up  a supplication,  which  I shall  not  fail  to  offer  also,  that  you 
may  receive  a spirit  of  humility  and  submission,  so  that  you 
may  not  be  hindered  from  seeing  and  following  the  Divine 
guidance  in  this  matter  by  any  false  lights  of  pride  and  ob- 
stinacy. Of  this  more  when  I have  spoken  with  your  son.” 
“ I’m  not  proud  or  obstinate,  Mr.  Lyon.  I never  did  say 
I was  everything  that  was  bad,  and  I never  will.  And  why 


THE  RADICAL. 


S3 


this  trouble  should  be  sent  on  me  above  everybody  else — 
for  I haven’t  told  you  all.  He’s  made  himself  a journeyman 
to  Mr.  Prowd  the  watchmaker — after  all  this  learning — and 
he  says  he’ll  go  with  patches  on  his  knees,  and  he  shall  like 
himself  the  better.  And  as  for  him  having  little  boys  to 
teach,  they’ll  come  in  all  weathers  with  dirty  shoes.  If  it’s 
madness,  Mr.  Lyon,  it’s  no  use  your  talking  to  him.” 

“ We  shall  see.  Perhaps  it  may  even  be  the  disguised 
working  of  grace  within  him.  We  must  not  judge  rashly. 
Many  eminent  servants  of  God  have  been  led  by  ways  as 
strange.” 

“ Then  I’m  sorry  for  their  mothers,  that’s  all,  Mr.  Lyon  ; 
and  all  the  more  if  they’d  been  well-spoken-on  women.  For 
not  my  biggest  enemy,  whether  it’s  he  or  she,  if  they’ll  speak 
the  truth,  can  turn  round  and  say  I’ve  deserved  this  trouble. 
And  when  everybody  gets  their  due,  and  people’s  doings  are 
spoke  of  on  the  house-tops,  as  the  Bible  says  they  will  be, 
it’ll  be  known  what  I’ve  gone  through  with  those  medicines 
— the  pounding  and  the  pouring,  and  the  letting  stand,  and 
the  weighing — up  early  and  down  late — there’s  nobody 
knows  yet  but  One  that’s  worthy  to  know  ; and  the  pasting 
o’  the  printed  labels  right  side  upwards.  There’s  few 
women  would  have  gone  through  with  it ; and  it’s  reason- 
able to  think  it’ll  be  made  up  to  me  ; for  if  there’s  promised 
and  purchased  blessings,  I should  think  this  trouble  is  pur- 
chasing ’em.  For  if  my  son  Felix  doesn’t  have  a strait- 
waistcoat  put  on  him,  he’ll  have  his  way.  But  I say  no 
more.  I wish  you  good-morning,  Mr.  Lyon,  and  thank  you, 
though  I well  know  it’s  your  duty  to  act  as  you’re  doing. 
And  I never  troubled  you  about  my  own  soul,  as  some  do 
who  look  down  on  me  for  not  being  a church  member.” 
“Farewell,  Mistress  Holt,  farewell.  I pray  that  a more 
powerful  teacher  than  I am  may  instruct  you.” 

The  door  was  closed,  and  the  much-tried  Rufus  walked 
about  again,  saying  aloud,  groaningly — 

“ This  woman  has  sat  under  the  Gospel  all  her  life,  and 
she  is  as  blind  as  a heathen,  and  as  proud  and  stiff-necked 
as  a Pharisee  ; yet  she  is  one  of  the  souls  I watch  for.  ’Tis 
true  that  even  Sara,  the  chosen  mother  of  God’s  people, 
showed  a spirit  of  unbelief,  and  perhaps  of  selfish  anger  ; 
and  it  is  a passage  that  bears  the  unmistakable  signet,  4 do- 
ing honor  to  the  wife  or  woman,  as  unto  the  weaker  vessel.’ 
For  therein  is  the  greatest  check  put  on  the  ready  scorn  o£ 
the  natural  man.” 


54 


FELIX  HOLT, 

CHAPTER  V. 


Sir,  there’s  a hurry  in  the  veins  of  youth 
That  makes  a vice  of  virtue  by  excess. 

What  if  the  coolness  of  our  tardier  veins 
Be  loss  of  virtue  ? 

All  things  cool  with  time— 

The  sun  itself,  they  say,  till  heat  shall  find 
A general  level,  nowhere  in  excess. 

’Tis  a poor  climax,  to  my  weaker  thought, 

That  future  middlingness. 

In  the  evening,  when  Mr.  Lyon  was  expecting  the  knock 
at  the  door  that  would  announce  Felix  Holt,  he  occupied 
his  cushionless  arm-chair  in  the  sitting-room,  and  was  skim- 
ming rapidly,  in  his  short-sighted  way,  by  the  light  of  one 
candle,  the  pages  of  a missionary  report,  emitting  occasion- 
ally a slight  “ Hm-m  ” that  appeared  to  be  expressive  of 
criticism  rather  than  of  approbation.  The  room  was  dis- 
mally furnished,  the  only  objects  indicating  an  intention  of 
ornament  being  a bookcase,  a map  of  the  Holy  Land,  an 
engraved  portrait  of  Dr.  Doddridge,  and  a black  bust  with 
a colored  face,  which  for  some  reason  or  other  was  covered 
with  green  gauze.  Yet  any  one  whose  attention  was  quite 
awake  must  have  been  aware,  even  on  entering,  of  certain 
things  that  were  incongruous  with  the  general  air  of  sombre- 
ness and  privation.  There  was  a delicate  scent  of  dried 
rose-leaves  ; the  light  by  which  the  minister  was  reading 
was  a wax-candle  in  a white  earthenware  candle-stick,  and 
the  table  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fireplace  held  a dainty 
work-basket  frilled  with  blue  satin. 

Felix  Holt,  when  he  entered,  was  not  in  an  observant 
mood  ; and  when,  after  seating  himself,  at  the  minister’s  in- 
vitation, near  the  little  table  which  held  the  work-basket,  he 
stared  at  the  wax-candle  opposite  to  him,  he  did  so  without 
any  wonder  or  consciousness  that  the  candle  was  not  of  tal- 
low. But  the  minister’s  sensitiveness  gave  another  interpre- 
tation to  the  gaze  which  he  divined  rather  than  saw  ; and  in 
alarm  lest  this  inconsistent  extravagance  should  obstruct  his 
usefulness,  he  hastened  to  say — 

“ You  are  doubtless  amazed  to  see  me  with  a wax-light, 
my  young  friend  ; but  this  undue  luxury  is  paid  for  with  the 
earnings  of  my  daughter,  who  is  so  delicately  framed  that 
the  smell  of  tallow  is  loathsome  to  her.” 

“ I heeded  not  the  candle,  sir.  I thank  Heaven  I am  not 
a mouse  to  have  a nose  that  takes  note  of  wax  or  tallow.” 
The  loud  abrupt  tones  made  the  old  man  vibrate  a little. 
He  had  been  stroking  his  chin  gently  before,  with  a sense 


ist  Citizen. 
2D  Citizen, 
ist  Citizen. 

2D  Citizen. 


THE  RADICAL. 


55 


that  he  must  be  very  quiet  and  deliberate  in  his  treatment 
of  the  eccentric  young  man  ; but  now,  quite  unreflectingly, 
he  drew  forth  a pair  of  spectacles,  which  he  was  in  the  habit 
of  using  when  he  wanted  to  observe  his  interlocutor  more 
closely  than  usual. 

“ And  I myself,  in  fact,  am  equally  indifferent,”  he  said, 
as  he  opened  and  adjusted  his  glasses,  “ so  that  I have  a 
sufficient  light  on  my  book.”  Here  his  large  eyes  looked 
discerningly  through  the  spectacles. 

Tis  the  quality  of  the  page  you  care  about,  not  of  the 
candle,”  said  Felix,  smiling  pleasantly  enough  at  his  inspector. 
“ You’re  thinking  that  you  have  a roughly-written  page  be- 
fore you  now.” 

That  was  true.  The  minister,  accustomed  to  the  re- 
pectable  air  of  provincial  townsmen,  and  especially  to  the 
sleek  well-clipped  gravity  of  his  own  male  congregation,  felt 
a slight  shock  as  his  glasses  made  perfectly  clear  to  him  the 
shaggy-headed,  large-eyed,  strong-limbed  person  of  this 
questionable  young  man,  without  waistcoat  or  cravat.  But  the 
possibility,  supported  by  some  of  Mrs.  Holt’s  words, that  a dis- 
guised work  of  grace  might  be  going  on  in  the  son  of  whom  she 
complained  so  bitterly,  checked  any  hasty  interpretations. 

“ I abstain  from  judging  by  the  outward  appearance 
only,”  he  answered,  with  his  usual  simplicity.  “ I myself 
have  experienced  that  when  the  spirit  is  much  exercised  it 
is  difficult  to  remember  neck-bands  and  strings  and  such 
small  accidents  of  our  vesture,  which  are  nevertheless  decent 
and  needful  so  long  as  we  sojourn  in  the  flesh.  And  you, 
too,  my  young*friend,as  I gather  from  your  mother’s  troubled 
and  confused  report,  are  undergoing  some  travail  of  mind. 
You  will  not,  I trust,  object  to  open  yourself  fully  to  me,  as 
to  an  aged  pastor  who  has  himself  had  much  inward  wrestling, 
and  has  especially  known  much  temptation  from  doubt.” 

“ As  to  doubt,”  said  Felix,  loudly  and  brusquely  as  be- 
fore, “ if  it  is  those  absurb  medicines  and  gulling  advertise- 
ments that  my  mother  has  been  talking  of  to  you — and  I 
suppose  it  is — I’ve  no  more  doubt  about  them  than  I have 
about  pocket-picking.  I know  there’s  a stage  of  speculation 
in  which  a man  may  doubt  whether  a pickpocket  is  blame- 
worthy— but  I’m  not  one  of  your  subtle  fellows  who  keep 
looking  at  the  world  through  their  own  legs.  If  I allowed 
the  sale  of  those  medicines  to  go  on,  and  my  mother  to  live 
out  of  the  proceeds  when  I can  keep  her  by  the  honest  labor 
of  my  hands,  I’ve  not  the  least  doubt  that  I should  be  a rascal,” 


56 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“I  would  fain  enquire  more  particularly  into  your  objec- 
tion to  these  medicines,”  said  Mr.  Lyon,  gravely.  Notwith- 
standing his  conscientiousness  and  a certain  originality  in 
his  own  mental  disposition,  he  was  too  little  used  to  high 
principle  quite  dissociated  from  sectarian  phraseology  to  be  as 
immediately  in  sympathy  with  it  as  he  would  otherwise  have 
been.  “ I know  they  have  been  well  reported  of,  and  many 
wise  persons  have  tried  remedies  providentially  discovered 
by  those  who  are  not  regular  physicians,  and  have  found  a 
blessing  in  the  use  of  them.  I may  mention  the  eminent 
Mr.  Wesley,  who,  though  I hold  not  altogether  with  his 
Arminian  doctrine,  nor  with  the  usages  of  his  institutions, 
was  nevertheless  a man  of  God  ; and  the  journals  of  various 
Christians  whose  names  have  left  a sweet  savor,  might  be 
cited  in  the  same  sense.  Moreover,'  your  father,  who  origin- 
ally concocted  these  medicines  and  left  them  as  a provision 
for  your  mother,  was,  as  I understand,  a man  whose  walk  was 
not  unfaithful.” 

“ My  father  was  ignorant,”  said  Felix,  bluntly.  “ He 
knew  neither  the  complication  of  the  human  system,  nor  the 
way  in  which  drugs  counteract  each  other.  Ignorance  is 
not  so  damnable  as  humbug,  but  when  it  prescribes  pills  it 
may  happen  to  do  more  harm.  I know  something  about 
these  things.  I was  ’prentice  for  five  miserable  years  to  a 
stupid  brute  of  a country  apothecary — mv  poor  father  left 
money  for  that — he  thought  nothing  could  be  finer  for  me. 
No  matter:  I know  that  the  Cathartic  Pills  are  a drastic  com- 
pound which  may  be  as  bad  as  poison  to  half  the  people 
who  swallow  them  ; that  the  Elixir  is  an  absurd  farrago  of  a 
dozen  incompatible  things  ; and  that  the  Cancer  Cure  might 
as  well  be  bottled  ditch-water.” 

Mr.  Lyon  rose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room.  His 
simplicity  was  strongly  mixed  with  sagacity  as  well  as  sec  - 
tarian prejudice,  and  he  did  not  rely  at  once  on  a loud- 
spoken  integrity — Satan  might  have  flavored  it  with  osten- 
tation. Presently  he  asked,  in  a rapid,  low  tone,  “ How  long 
have  you  known  this,  young  man  ? ” 

“ Well  put,  sir,”  said  Felix.  “ I’ve  known  it  a good  deal 
longer  than  I have  acted  upon  it,  like  plenty  of  other  things. 
But  you  believe  in  conversion  ? ” 

“Yea,  verily.” 

“ So  do  I.  I was  converted  by  six  weeks’  debauchery.” 
The  minister  started.  “Young  man,”  he  said,  solemnly, 
going  up  close  to  Felix  and  laying  a hand  on  his  shoulder* 


THE  RADICAL.  57 

“ speak  not  lightly  of  the  Divine  operations,  and  restrain 
unseemly  words.” 

“ I’m  not  speaking  lightly,”  said  Felix.  “If  I had  not 
seen  that  I was  making  a hog  of  myself  very  fast,  and  that 
pig-wash,  even  if  I could  have  got  plenty  of  it,  was  a poor 
sort  of  thing,  I should  never  have  looked  life  fairly  in  the 
face  to  see  what  was  to  be  done  with  it.  I laughed  out  loud 
at  last  to  think  that  a poor  devil  like  me,  in  a Scotch  garret, 
with  my  stockings  out  at  heel  and  a shilling  or  two  to  be 
dissipated  upon,  with  a smell  of  raw  haggis  mounting  from 
below,  and  old  women  breathing  gin  as  they  passed  me  on  the 
stairs — wanting  to  turn  my  life  into  easy  pleasure.  Then  I 
began  to  see  what  else  it  could  be  turned  into.  Not  much, 
perhaps.  This  world  is  not  a very  fine  place  for  a good 
many  of  the  people  in  it.  But  I’ve  made  up  my  mind  it 
shan’t  be  the  worse  for  me,  if  I can  help  it.  They  may  tell 
me  I can’t  alter  the  world— that  there  must  be  a certain 
number  of  sneaks  and  robbers  in  it,  and  if  I don’t  lie  and 
filch  somebody  else  will.  Well  then,  somebody  else  shall, 
for  I won’t.  That’s  the  upshot  of  my  conversion,  Mr.  Lyon, 
if  you  want  to  know  it.” 

Mr.  Lyon  removed  his  hand  from  Felix’s  shoulder  and 
walked  about  again.  “ Did  you  sit  under  any  preacher  at 
Glasgow,  young  man  ? ” 

“ No  : I heard  most  of  the  preachers  once,  but  I never 
wanted  to  hear  them  twice.” 

The  good  Rufus  was  not  without  a slight  rising  of  resent- 
ment at  this  young  man’s  want  of  reverence.  It  was  not 
yet  plain  whether  he  wanted  to  hear  twice  the  preacher  in 
Malthouse  Yard.  But  the  resentful  feeling  was  carefully 
repressed  : a soul  in  so  peculiar  a condition  must  be  dealt 
with  delicately. 

“ And  now,  may  I ask,”  he  said,  “ what  course  you  mean 
to  take,  after  hindering  your  mother  from  making  and  sell- 
ing these  drugs  ? I speak  no  more  in  their  favor  after  what 
you  have  said.  God  forbid  that  I should  strive  to  hinder 
you  from  seeking  whatsoever  things  are  honest  and  honor- 
able. But  your  mother  is  advanced  in  years  ; she  needs 
comfortable  sustenance  ; you  have  doubtless  considered 
how  you  may  make  her  amends  ? ‘ He  that  provideth  not 

for  his  own ’ I trust  you  respect  the  authority  that  so 

speaks.  And  I will  not  suppose  that,  after  being  tender  of 
conscience  toward  strangers,  you  will  be  careless  toward 
your  mother.  There  be  indeed  some  who,  taking  a mighty 


FELIX  HOLT, 


58 

charge  on  their  shoulder,  must  perforce  leave  their  house- 
holds to  Providence,  and  to  the  care  of  humbler  brethren, 
but  in  such  a case  the  call  must  be  clear.” 

“ I shall  keep  my  mother  as  well — nay,  better — than  she 
has  kept  herself.  She  has  always  been  frugal.  With  my 
watch  and  clock  cleaning,  and  teaching  one  or  two  little  chaps 
that  I’ve  got  to  cometome,  I can  earn  enough.  Asforme,  I 
can  live  on  bran  porridge.  I have  the  stomach  of  a rhinoceros.  ” 

“But  for  a young  man  so  well  furnished  as  you,  who  can 
questionless  write  a good  hand  and  keep  books,  were  it  not 
well  to  seek  some  higher  situation  as  clerk  or  assistant  ? I 
could  speak  to  Brother  Muscat,  who  is  well  acquainted  with 
all  such  openings.  Any  place  in  Pendrell’s  Bank,  I fear,  is 
now  closed  against  such  as  are  not  Churchmen.  It  used 
not  to  be  so,  but  a year  ago  he  discharged  Brother  Bodkin, 
although  he  was  a valuable  servant.  Still,  something  might 
be  found.  There  are  ranks  and  degrees — and  those  who 
can  serve  in  the  higher  must  not  unadvisedly  change  what 
seems  to  be  a providential  appointment.  Your  poor  mother 
is  not  altogether 99 

“ Excuse  me,  Mr.  Lyon  ; I’ve  had  all  that  out  with  my 
mother,  and  I may  as  well  save  you  any  trouble  by  telling 
you  that  my  mind  has  been  made  up  about  that  a long  while 
ago.  I’ll  take  no  employment  that  obliges  me  to  prop  up 
my  chin  with  a high  cravat,  and  wear  straps,  and  pass  the 
livelong  day  with  a set  of  fellows  who  spend  their  spare 
money  on  shirt  pins.  That  sort  of  work  is  really  lower  than 
many  handicrafts  ; it  only  happens  to  be  paid  out  of  pro- 
portion. That’s  why  I set  myself  to  learn  the  watchmaking 
trade.  My  father  was  a weaver  first  of  all.  It  would  have 
been  better  for  him  if  he  had  remained  a weaver.  I came 
home  through  Lancashire  and  saw  an  uncle  of  mine  who  is 
a weaver  still.  I mean  to  stick  to  the  class  I belong  to — 
people  who  don’t  follow  the  fashions. ’’ 

Mr.  Lyon  was  silent  a few  moments.  This  dialogue  was 
far  from  plain  sailing  ; he  was  not  certain  of  his  latitude 
and  longitude.  If  the  despiser  of  Glasgow  preachers  had 
been  arguing  in  favor  of  gin  and  Sabbath-breaking,  Mr. 
Lyon’s  course  would  have  been  clearer.  “ Well,  well,”  he 
said,  deliberately,  “ it  is  true  that  St.  Paul  exercised  the 
trade  of  tent-making,  though  he  was  learned  in  all  the 
wisdom  of  the  Rabbis.” 

“ St.  Paul  was  a wise  man,”  said  Felix.  “ Why  should  I 
want  to  get  into  the  middle  class  because  I have  some  learn- 


THE  RADICAL. 


59 


ing  ? The  most  of  the  middle  class  are  as  ignorant  as  the 
working  people  about  everything  that  doesn’t  belong  to  their 
own  Brummagem  life.'  That’s  how  the  workingmen  are 
left  to  foolish  devices  and  keep  worsening  themselves  : the 
best  heads  among  them  forsake  their  boon  comrades,  and  go 
in  for  a house  with  a high  door-step  and  a brass  knocker.” 

Mr.  Lyon  stroked  his  mouth  and  chin,  perhaps  because 
he  felt  some  disposition  to  smile  ; and  it  would  not  be  well  to 
smile  too  readily  at  what  seemed  but  a weedy  resemblance 
of  Christian  unworldliness.  On  the  contrary,  there  might 
be  a dangerous  snare  in  an  unsanctified  outstepping  of  aver- 
age Christian  practice. 

“ Nevertheless,”  he  observed,  gravely,  “ it  is  by  such  self- 
advancement that  many  have  been  enabled  to  do  good  ser- 
vice to  the  cause  of  liberty  and  to  the  public  well-being. 
The  ring  and  the  robe  of  Joseph  were  no  objects  for  a good 
man’s  ambition,  but  they  were  the  signs  of  that  credit  which 
he  won  by  his  divinely-inspired  skill,  and  which  enabled  him 
to  act  as  a saviour  to  his  brethren.” 

“ Oh,  yes,  your  ringed  and  scented  men  of  the  people  ! — 
I won’t  be  one  of  them.  Let  a man  once  throttle  himself 
with  a satin  stock,  and  he’ll  get  new  wants  and  new  motives. 
Metamorphosis  will  have  begun  at  his  neck-joint,  and  it  will 
go  on  till  it  has  changed  his  likings  first  and  then  his  reason- 
ing, which  will  follow  his  likings  as  the  feet  of  a hungry  dog 
follow  his  nose.  I’ll  have  none  of  your  clerkly  gentility.  I 
might  end  by  collecting  greasy  pence  from  poor  men  to  buy 
myself  a fine  coat  and  a glutton’s  dinner,  on  pretence  of 
serving  the  poor  men.  I’d  sooner  be  Paley’s  fat  pigeon  than 
a demagogue  all  tongue  and  stomach,  though  ” — here  Felix 
changed  his  voice  a little — “ I should  like  well  enough  to  be 
another  sort  of  demagogue,  if  I could.” 

“ Then  you  have  a strong  interest  in  the  great  political 
movements  of  these  times  ? ” said  Mr.  Lyon,  with  a percepti- 
ble flashing  of  the  eyes. 

“ I should  think  so.  I despise  every  man  who  has  not — 
or,  having  it,  doesn’t  try  to  rouse  it  in  other  men.” 

“ Right,  my  young  friend,  right,”  said  the  minister,  in  a 
deep  cordial  tone.  Inevitably  his  mind  was  drawn  aside 
from  the  immediate  consideration  of  Felix  Holt’s  spiritual 
interest  by  the  prospect  of  political  sympathy.  In  those 
days  so  many  instruments  of  God’s  cause  in  the  fight  for 
religious  and  political  liberty  held  creeds  that  were  pain- 
fully wrong,  and,  indeed,  irreconcilable  with  salvation  ! 


6o 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ That  is  my  own  view,  which  I maintain  in  the  face  of  some 
opposition  from  brethren  who  contend  that  a share  in  public 
movements  is  a hindrance  to  the  closer  walk,  and  that  the 
pulpit  is  no  place  for  teaching  men  their  duties  as  members 
of  the  commonwealth.  I have  had  much  puerile  blame  cast 
upon  me  because  I have  uttered  such  names  as  Brougham 
and  Wellington  in  the  pulpit.  Why  not  Wellington  as  well 
as  Rabshakeh  ? and  why  not  Brougham  as  well  as  Balaam  ? 
Does  God  know  less  of  men  than  He  did  in  the  days  of 
Hezekiah  and  Moses? — is  His  arm  shortened,  and  is  the 
world  become  too  wide  for  His  providence  ? But,  they  say, 
there  are  no  politics  in  the  New  Testament ” 

“ Well,  they’re  right  enough  there,”  said  Felix,  with  his 
usual  unceremoniousness. 

“ What  ! you  are  of  those  who  hold  that  a Christian  minister 
should  not  meddle  with  public  matters  in  the  pulpit?”  said 
Mr.  Lyon,  coloring.  “ I am  ready  to  join  issue  on  that  point.” 

“Not  I,  sir,”  said  Felix  ; “I  should  say,  teach  any  truth 
you  can,  whether  it’s  in  the  Testament  or  out  of  it.  It’s 
little  enough  anybody  can  get  hold  of,  and  still  less  what  he 
•can  drive  into  the  skulls  of  a pence-counting,  parcel-tying 
generation,  such  as  mostly  fill  your  chapels.” 

“Young  man,”  said  Mr.  Lyon,  pausing  in  front  of  Felix. 
He  spoke  rapidly,  as  he  always  did,  except  when  his  words 
were  specially  weighted  with  emotion  : he  overflowed  with 
matter,  and  in  his  mind  matter  was  always  completely  organ- 
ized into  words.  “ I speak  not  on  my  own  behalf,  for  not 
only  have  I no  desire  that  any  man  should  think  of  me  above 
that  which  he  seeth  me  to  be,  but  I am  aware  of  much  that 
should  make  me  patient  under  a disesteem  resting  even  on 
too  hasty  a construction.  I speak  not  as  claiming  reverence 
for  my  own  age  and  office — not  to  shame  you,  but  to  warn 
you.  It  is  good  that  you  should  use  plainness  of  speech, 
and  I am  not  of  those  who  would  enforce  a submissive 
silence  on  the  young,  that  they  themselves,  being  elders,  may 
be  heard  at  large  ; but  Elihu  was  the  youngest  of  Job’s 
friends,  yet  was  there  a wise  rebuke  in  his  words ; and  the 
aged  Eli  was  taught  by  a revelation  to  the  boy  Samuel.  I 
have  to  keep  a special  watch  over  myself  in  this  matter,  in- 
asmuch as  I have  need  of  utterance  which  makes  the  thought 
within  me  seem  as  a pent-up  fire,  until  I have  shot  it  forth, 
as  it  were,  in  arrowy  words,  each  one  hitting  its  mark. 
Therefore  I pray  for  a listening  spirit,  which  is  a great  mark 
of  grace.  Nevertheless,  my  young  friend,  I am  bound,  as  I 


THE  RADICAL. 


6 1 


said,  to  warn  you.  The  temptations  that  most  beset  those 
who  have  great  natural  gifts,  and  are  wise  after  the  flesh, 
are  pride  and  scorn,  more  particularly  toward  those  weak 
things  of  the  world  which  have  been  chosen  to  confound  the 
things  which  are  mighty.  The  scornful  nostril  and  the  high 
head  gather  not  the  odors  that  lie  on  the  track  of  truth.  The 

mind  that  is  too  ready  at  contempt  and  reprobation  is 

Here  the  door  opened,  and  Mr.  Lyon  paused  to  look 
around, but  seeing  only  Lyddy  with  the  tea-tray,  he  went  on — 
“ Is,  I may  say,  as  a clenched  fist  that  can  give  blows, 
but  is  shut  up  from  receiving  and  holding  aught  that  is  pre- 
cious— though  it  were  heaven-sent  manna.” 

“ I understand  you,  sir,”  said  Felix,  good-humoredly,  put- 
ting out  his  hand  to  the  little  man,  who  had  come  close  to 
him  as  he  delivered  the  last  sentence  with  sudden  emphasis 
and  slowness.  “ But  I’m  not  inclined  to  clench  my  fist  at  you.” 
“Well,  well,”  said  Mr.  Lyon,  shaking  the  proffered  hand, 
“ we  shall  see  more  of  each  other,  and  I trust  shall  have 
much  profitable  communing.  You  will  stay  and  have  a dish 
of  tea  with  us  : we  take  the  meal  late  on  Thursdays,  be- 
cause my  daughter  is  detained  by  giving  a lesson  in  the 
French  tongue.  But  she  is  doubtless  returned  now,  and 
will  presently  come  and  pour  out  tea  for  us.” 

“ Thank  you,  I’ll  stay,”  said  Felix,  not  from  any  curiosity 
to  see  the  minister’s  daughter,  but  from  a liking  for  the 
society  of  the  minister  himself — for  his  quaint  looks  and 
ways,  and  the  transparency  of  his  talk,  which  gave  a charm 
even  to  his  weakness.  The  daughter  was  probably  some 
prim  Miss,  neat,  sensible,  pious,  but  all  in  a small  feminine 
way,  in  which  Felix  was  no  more  interested  than  in  Dorcas 
meetings,  biographies  of  devout  women,  and  that  amount  of 
ornamental  knitting  which  was  not  inconsistent  with  Non- 
conforming  seriousness. 

“ I’m  perhaps  a little  too  fond  of  banging  and  smashing,” 
he  went  on:  “ a phrenologist  at  Glasgow  told  me  I had 
large  veneration  ; another  man  there,  who  knew  me,  laughed 
out  and  said  I was  the  most  blashemous  iconoclast  living. 
‘ That,’  says  my  phrenologist,  ‘ is  because  of  his  large  ideal- 
ity, which  prevents  him  from  finding  anything  perfect 
enough  to  be  venerated.’  Of  course  I put  my  ears  down 
and  wagged  my  tail  at  that  stroking.” 

“ Yes,  yes;  I have  had  my  own  head  explored  with  some- 
what similar  results.  It  is,  I fear,  but  a vain  show  of  ful- 
filling the  heathen  precept,  4 Know  thyself,’  and  too  often 


62 


FfcLIX  HOLT, 


leads  to  a self-estimate  which  will  subsist  in  the  absence  of 
that  fruit  by  which  alone  the  quality  of  the  tree  is  made 

evident.  Nevertheless Esther,  my  dear,  this  is  Mr.  Holt, 

whose  acquaintance  I have  now  been  making  with  more 
than  ordinary  interest.  He  will  take  tea  with  us.” 

Esther  bowed  slightly  as  she  walked  across  the  room  to 
fetch  the  candle  and  place  it  near  her  tray.  Felix  rose  and 
bowed,  also  with  an  air  of  indifference,  which  was  perhaps 
exaggerated  by  the  fact  that  he  was  inwardly  surprised.  The 
minister’s  daughter  was  not  the  sort  of  person  he  expected. 
She  was  quite  incongruous  with  his  notion  of  ministers’ 
daughters  in  general;  and  though  he  had  expected  something 
nowise  delightful,  the  incongruity  repelled  him.  A very 
delicate  scent,  the  faint  suggestion  of  a garden,  was  wafted 
as  she  went.  He  would  not  observe  her,  but  he  had  a sense 
of  an  elastic  walk,  the  tread  of  small  feet,  a long  neck  and  a 
high  crown  of  shining  brown  plaits  and  curls  that  floated 
backward — things,  in  short,  that  suggested  a fine  lady  to 
him,  and  determined  him  to  notice  her  as  little  as  possible. 
A fine  lady  was  always  a sort  of  spun-glass  affair — not  natu- 
ral, and  with  no  beauty  for  him  as  art  ; but  a fine  lady  as 
the  daughter  of  this  rusty  old  Puritan  was  especially  offensive. 

“ Nevertheless,”  continued  Mr.  Lyon,  who  rarely  let  drop 
any  thread  of  discourse,  “ that  phrenological  science  is  not 
irreconcilable  with  the  revealed  dispensations.  And  it  is 
undeniable  that  we  have  our  varying  native  dispositions 
which  even  grace  will  not  obliterate.  I myself,  from  my 
youth  up,  have  been  given  to  question  too  curiously  concern- 
ing the  truth — to  examine  and  sift  the  medicine  of  the  soul 
rather  than  to  apply  it.” 

“ If  your  truth  happens  to  be  such  medicine  as  Holt’s 
Pills  and  Elixir,  the  less  you  swallow  of  it  the  better,”  said 
Felix.  “ But  truth-vendors  and  medicine-vendors  usually 
recommend  swallowing.  When  a man  sees  his  livelihood  in 
a pill  or  a proposition,  he  likes  to  have  orders  for  the  dose, 
and  not  curious  enquiries.” 

This  speech  verged  on  rudeness,  but  it  was  delivered  with 
a brusque  openness  that  implied  the  absence  of  any  personal 
intention.  The  minister’s  daughter  was  now  for  the  first 
time  startled  into  looking  at  Felix.  But  her  survey  of  this 
unusual  speaker  was  soon  made,  and  she  relieved  her  father 
from  the  need  to  reply  by  saying — 

“ The  tea  is  poured  out,  father.” 

That  was  the  signal  for  Mr.  Lyon  to  advance  toward  the 


THE  RADICAL. 


63 

table,  raise  his  right  hand,  and  ask  a blessing  at  sufficient 
length  for  Esther  to  glance  at  the  visitor  again.  There 
seemed  to  be  no  danger  of  his  looking  at  her  : he  was  observ- 
ing her  father.  She  had  time  to  remark  that  he  was  a pecu- 
liar looking  person,  but  not  insignificant,  which  was  the 
quality  that  most  hopelessly  consigned  a man  to  perdition. 
He  was  massively  built.  The  striking  points  in  his  face  were 
large  clear  gray  eyes  and  full  lips. 

“ Will  you  draw  up  to  the  table,  Mr.  Holt?”  said  the 
minister. 

In  the  act  of  rising,  Felix  pushed  back  his  chair  too  sud- 
denly against  the  rickety  table  close  by  him,  and  down  went 
the  blue-frilled  work-basket,  flying  open,  and  dispersing  on 
the  floor  reels,  thimble,  muslin-work,  a small  sealed  bottle  of 
attar  of  rose,  and  something  heavier  than  these — a duodecimo 
volume  which  fell  near  him  between  the  table  and  the  fender. 

“ Oh,  my  stars  ! ” said  Felix,  “ I beg  your  pardon.”  Esther 
had  already  started  up,  and  with  wonderful  quickness  had 
picked  up  half  the  small  rolling  things  while  Felix  was  lifting 
the  basket  and  the  book.  This  last  had  opened,  and  had  its 
leaves  crushed  in  falling  ; and,  with  the  instinct  of  a bookish 
man,  he  saw  nothing  more  pressing  to  be  done  than  to  flatten 
the  corners  of  the  leaves. 

“ Byron’s  Poems  ! ” he  said,  in  a tone  of  disgust,  while 
Esther  was  recovering  all  the  other  articles.  “ ‘ The  Dream  ’ 
— he’d  better  have  been  asleep  and  snoring.  What ! do  you 
stuff  your  memory  with  Byron,  Miss  Lyon  ? ” 

Felix  on  his  side,  was  led  at  last  to  look  straight  at  Esther, 
but  it  was  with  a strong  denunciatory  and  pedagogic  inten- 
tion. Of  course  he  saw  more  clearly  than  ever  that  she  was 
a fine  lady. 

She  reddened,  drew  up  her  long  neck,  and  said,  as  she 
retreated  to  her  chair  again — 

“ I have  a great  admiration  for  Byron.” 

Mr.  Lyon  had  paused  in  the  act  of  drawing  his  chair  to 
the  tea-table,  and  was  looking  on  at  this  scene,  wrinkling  the 
corners  of  his  eyes  with  a perplexed  smile.  Esther  would 
not  have  wished  him  to  know  anything  about  the  volume  of 
Byron,  but  she  was  too  proud  to  show  any  concern. 

“ He  is  a worldly  and  vain  writer,  I fear,”  said  Mr.  Lyon. 
He  knew  scarcely  anything  of  the  poet,  whose  books  em- 
bodied the  faith  and  ritual  of  manyyoung  ladies  and  gentlemen. 

“ A misanthropic  debauchee,”  said  Felix,  lifting  a chair 
with  one  hand,  and  holding  the  book  open  in  the  other, 


64 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ whose  notion  of  a hero  was  that  he  should  disorder  his 
stomach  and  despise  mankind.  His  corsairs  and  renegades, 
his  Alps  and  Manfreds,  are  the  most  paltry  puppets  that 
were  ever  pulled  by  the  strings  of  lust  and  pride/’ 

“ Hand  the  book  to  me,”  said  Mr.  Lyon. 

“ Let  me  beg  of  you  to  put  it  aside  till  after  tea,  father,” 
said  Esther.  “ However  objectionable  Mr.  Holt  may  find 
its  pages,  they  would  certainly  be  made  worse  by  being 
greased  with  bread-and-butter.” 

“ That  is  true,  my  dear,”  said  Mr.  Lyon,  laying  down  the 
book  on  the  small  table  behind  him.  He  saw  that  his  daugh- 
ter was  angry. 

“ Ho,  ho  ! ” thought  Felix,  “her  father  is  frightened  at  her. 
How  came  he  to  have  such  a nice-stepping,  long-necked  pea- 
cock for  his  daughter?  but  she  shall  see  that  I am  not  fright- 
ened.” Then  he  said  aloud,  “I  should  like  to  knowhow  you 
will  justify  your  admiration  forjsuch  a writer,  Miss  Lyon.” 

“ I should  not  attempt  it  with  you,  Mr.  Holt,”  said  Esther. 
“ You 'have  such  strong  words  at  command  that  they  make 
the  smallesfargument  seem  formidable.  If  I had  ever  met 
the  giant  Cormoran,  I should  have  made  a point  of  agreeing 
with  him  in  his  literary  opinions.” 

Esther  had  that  excellent  thing  in  woman,  a soft  voice 
with  clear  • fluent  utterance.  Her  sauciness  was  always 
charming  because  it  was  without  emphasis,  and  was  accom- 
panied with  graceful  little  turns  of  the  head. 

Felix  laughed  at  her  thrust  with  young  heartiness. 

“ My  daughter  is  a critic  of  words,  Mr.  Holt,”  said  the 
minister,  smiling  complacently,  “and  often  corrects  mine 
on  the  ground  of  niceties,  which  I profess  are  as  dark  to  me  as 
if  they  were  the  reports  of  a sixth  sense  which  I possess  not. 
I am  an  eager  seeker  for  precision,  and  would  fain  find 
language  subtle  enough  to  follow  the  utmost  intricacies  of 
the  soul’s  pathways,  but  I see  not  why  a round  word  that 
means  some  object,  made  and  blessed  by  the  Creator,  should 
be  branded  and  banished  as  a malefactor.” 

“ Oh,  your  niceties — I know  what  they  are,”  said  Felix, 
in  his  usual  fortissimo.  “ They’ll  go  on  your  system  of 
make-believe.  ‘ Rottenness  ’ may  suggest  what  is  unpleasant, 
so  you’d  better  say  ‘ sugar-plums,’  or  something  else  such  a 
long  way  off  the  fact  that  nobody  is  obliged  to  think  of  it. 
Those  are  your  roundabout  euphuisms  that  dress  up  swin- 
dling till  it  looks  as  well  as  honesty,  and  shoot  with  boiled 
peas  instead  of  bullets.  I hate  your  gentlemanly  speakers.” 


THE  RADICAL. 


65 

“ Then  you  would  not  like  Mr.  Jermyn,  I think,”  said 
Esther.  “ That  reminds  me,  father,  that  to-day,  when  I was 
giving  Miss  Louisa  Jermyn  her  lesson,  Mr.  Jermyn  came  in 
and  spoke  to  me  with  grand  politeness,  and  asked  me  at 
what  times  you  were  likely  to  be  disengaged,  because  he 
wished  to  make  your  better  acquaintance,  and  consult  you 
on  matters  of  importance.  He  never  took  the  least  notice 
of  me  before.  Can  you  guess  the  reason  of  his  sudden 
ceremoniousness  ? ” 

“ Nay,  child,”  said  the  minister,  ponderingly. 

“Politics,  of  course/'  said  Felix.  “ He’s  on  some  com- 
mittee. An  election  is  coming.  Universal  peace  is  declared, 
and  the  foxes  have  a sincere  interest  in  prolonging  the 
lives  of  the  poultry.  Eh,  Mr.  Lyon  ? Isn’t  that  it  ?” 

“ Nay,  not  so.  He  is  the  close  ally  of  the  Transome 
family,  who  are  blind  hereditary  Tories  like  the  Debarrys, 
and  will  drive  their  tenants  to  the  poll  as  if  they  were  sheep, 
and  it  has  even  been  hinted  that  the  heir  who  is  coming  from 
theEast  may  be  another  Tory  candidate,  and  coalesce  with  the 
younger  Debarry.'  It  is  said  that  he  has  enormous  wealth,  and 
could  purchase  every  vote  in  the  county  that  has  a price.” 

“ He  is  come,”  said  Esther.  “ I heard  Miss  Jermyn  tell 
her  sister  that  she  had  seen  him  going  out  of  her  father’s  room." 

“ ’Tis  strange,”  said  Mr.  Lyon. 

“ Something  extraordinary  must  have  happened,”  said 
Esther,  “ for  Mr.  Jermyn  to  intend  courting  us.  Miss  Jermyn 
said  to  me  only  the  other  day  that  she  could  not  think  how 
I came  to  be  so  well  educated  and  ladylike.  She  always 
thought  Dissenters  were  ignorant,  vulgar  people.  I said,  So 
they  were,  usually,  and  Church  people  also  in  small  towns. 
She  considers  herself  a judge  of  what  is  ladylike,  and  she  is 
vulgarity  personified — with  large  feet,  and  the  most  odious 
scent  on  her  handkerchief,  and  a bonnet  that  looks  like 
‘The  Fashion  ’ printed  in  capital  letters.” 

“ One  sort  of  fine-ladyism  is  as  good  as  another,”  said 
Felix. 

“ No,  indeed.  Pardon  me,”  said  Esther.  “A  real  fine- 
lady  does  not  wear  clothes  that  flare  in  people’s  eyes,  or  use  im- 
portunate scents,  or  make  a noise  as  she  moves:  she  is  some- 
thing refined  and  graceful, and  charming, and  never  obtrusive.” 

“Oh,  yes,”  said  Felix,  contemptuously.  “And  she  reads 
Byron  also,  and  admires  Childe  Harold — gentlemen  of 
unspeakable  woes,  who  employ  a hairdre^er,  and  look 
seriously  at  themselves  in  the  glass.” 


66 


FELIX  HOLT, 


Esther  reddened,  and  gave  a little  toss.  Felix  went  on 
triumphantly.  “ A fine-lady  is  a squirrel-headed  thing, 
with  small  airs,  and  small  notions,  about  as  applicable  to  the 
business  of  life  as  a pair  of  tweezers  to  the  clearing  of  a 
forest.  Ask  your  father  what  those  old  persecuted  emigrant 
Puritans  would  have  done  with  fine-lady  wives  and  daugh- 
ters.” 

“ Oh,  there  is  no  danger  of  such  mesalliances"  said  Esther. 
“ Men  who  are  unpleasant  companions  and  make  frights  of 
themselves, are  sure  to  get  wives  tasteless  enough  to  suit  them.” 

“ Esther,  my  dear,”  said  Mr.  Lyon,  “ let  not  your  play- 
fulness betray  you  into  disrespect  toward  those  venerable 
pilgrims.  They  struggled  and  endured  in  order  to  cherish 
and  plant  anew  the  seeds  of  a scriptural  doctrine  and  of  a 
pure  discipline.” 

“ Yes,  I know,”  said  Esther,  hastily,  dreading  a discourse 
on  the  pilgrim  fathers. 

“ Oh,  they  were  an  ugly  lot  ! ” Felix  burst  in,  making 
Mr.  Lyon  start.  “ Miss  Medora  wouldn’t  have  minded  if 
they  had  all  been  put  into  the  pillory  and  lost  their  ears. 
She  would  have  said,  ‘ Their  ears  did  stick  out  so.’  I 
shouldn’t  wonder  if  that's  a bust  of  one  of  them.”  Here 
Felix,  with  sudden  keenness  of  observation,  nodded  at  the 
black  bust  with  the  gauze  over  its  colored  face. 

“No,”  said  Mr.  Lyon,  “that  is  the  eminent  George  Whit- 
field, who,  you  well  know,  had  a gift  of  oratory  as  of  one  on 
whom  the  tongue  of  flame  had  rested  visibly.  But  Provi- 
dence— doubtless  for  wise  ends  in  relation  to  the  inner  man, 
for  I would  not  enquire  too  closely  into  minutiae  which  carry 
too  many  plausible  interpretations  for  any  one  of  them  to  be 
stable — Providence,  I say,  ordained  that  the  good  man 
should  squint ; and  my  daughter  has  not  yet  learned  to  bear 
with  his  infirmity.” 

“She  has  put  a veil  over  it.  Suppose  you  had  squinted 
yourself  ? ” said  Felix,  looking  at  Esther. 

“Then,  doubtless,  you  could  have  been  more  polite  to  me, 
Mr.  Holt,”  said  Esther,  rising  and  placing  herself  atherwork- 
table.  “You  seem  to  prefer  what  is  unusual  and  ugly.” 

“A  peacock  !”  thought  Felix.  “I  should  like  to  come 
and  scold  her  every  day,  and  make  her  cry  and  cut  her  fine 
hair  off.” 

Felix  rose  to  go,  and  said,  “I  will  not  take  up  any  more 
of  your  valuable  time,  Mr.  Lyon.  I know  that  you  have  not 
fliany  spare  evenings.” 


THE  RADICAL. 


6 7 


“That  is  true,  my  young  friend ; for  I now  go  to  Sproxton 
one  evening  in  the  week.  I do  not  despair  that  we  may 
some  day  need  a chapel  there,  though  the  hearers  do  not 
multiply  save  among  the  women,  and  there  is  no  work  as 
yet  begun  among  the  miners  themselves.  I shall  be  glad  of 
your  company  in  my  walk  thither  to-morrow  at  five  o’clock, 
if  you  would  like  to  see  how  that  population  has  grown  of 
late  years." 

“Oh,  I’ve  been  to  Sproxton  already  several  times.  I had 
a congregation  of  my  own  there  last  Sunday  evening.” 
“What ! do  you  preach  ? ” said  Mr.  Lyon,  with  brightened 
glance. 

“Not  exactly.  I went  to  the  ale-house.” 

Mr.  Lyon  started.  “I  trust  you  are  putting  a riddle  to 
me,  young  man,  even  as  Samson  did  to  his  companions. 
From  what  you  said  but  lately,  it  cannot  be  that  you  are 
given  to  tippling  and  to  taverns.” 

“Oh,  I don’t  drink  much.  I order  a pint  of  beer,  and  I 
get  into  talk  with  the  fellows  over  their  pots  and  pipes. 
Somebody  must  take  a little  knowledge  and  common-sense 
to  them  in  this  way,  else  how  are  they  to  get  it  ? I go  for 
educating  the  non-electors,  so  I put  myself  in  the  way  of  my 
pupils — my  academy  is  the  beer-house.  I’ll  walk  with  you 
to-morrow  with  pleasure.” 

“Do  so,  do  so,”  said  Mr.  Lyon,  shaking  hands  with  his 
odd  acquaintance.  “We  shall  understand  each  other  better 
by-and-by,  I doubt  not.” 

“I  wish  you  good-evening,  Miss  Lyon.” 

Esther  bowed  very  slightly,  without  speaking. 

“That  is  a singular  young  man,  Esther,”  said  the  minis- 
ter, walking  about  after  Felix  was  gone.  “I  discern  in  him 
a love  for  whatsoever  things  are  honest  and  true,  which  I 
would  fain  believe  to  be  an  earnest  of  further  endowment 
with  the  wisdom  that  is  from  on  high.  It  is  true  that,  as 
the  traveller  in  the  desert  is  often  lured,  by  a false  vision  of 
water  and  freshness,  to  turn  aside  from  the  track  which 
leads  to  the  tried  and  established  fountains,  so  the  Evil  One 
will  take  advantage  of  a natural  yearning  toward  the  better, 
to  delude  the  soul  with  a self-flattering  belief  in  a visionary 
virtue,  higher  than  the  ordinary  fruits  of  the  Spirit.  But  I 
trust  it  is  not  so  here.  I feel  a great  enlargement  in  this 
young  man’s  presence,  notwithstanding  a certain  license  in 
his  language,  which  I shall  use  my  efforts  to  correct.” 

“I  think  he  is  very  coarse  and  rude,”  said  Esther,  with  a 


68 


FELIX  HOLT, 


touch  of  temper  in  her  voice.  “But  he  speaks  better  Eng- 
lish than  most  of  our  visitors.  What  is  his  occupation?” 
“Watch  and  clock  making,  by  which,  together  with  a little 
teaching,  as  I understand,  he  hopes  to  maintain  his  mother, 
not  thinking  it  right  that  he  should  live  by  the  sale  of  medi- 
cines whose  virtues  he  distrusts.  It  is  no  common  scruple.” 
“Dear  me,”  said  Esther,  “ I thought  he  was  something 
higher  than  that.”  She  was  disappointed. 

Felix,  on  his  side,  as  he  strolled  out  in  the  evening  air, 
said  to  himself:  “Now  by  what  fine  meshes  of  circumstance 
did  that  queer  devout  old  man,  with  his  awful  creed,  which 
makes  this  world  a vestibule  with  double  doors  to  hell,  and 
a narrow  stair  on  one  side  whereby  the  thinner  sort  may 
mount  to  heaven — by  what  subtle  play  of  flesh  and  spirit 
did  he  come  to  have  a daughter  so  little  in  his  own  likeness? 
Married  foolishly,  I suppose.  Fll  never  marry,  though  I 
should  have  to  live  on  raw  turnips  to  subdue  my  flesh.  I’ll 
never  lookback  and  say,  ‘I  had  a fine  purpose  once — I 
meant  to  keep  my  hands  clean  and  my  soul  upright,  and  to 
look  truth  in  the  face  ; but  pray  excuse  me,  I have  a wife 
and  children — I must  lie  and  simper  a little,  else  they’ll 
starve’;  or  ‘My  wife  is  nice,  she  must  have  her  bread  well 
buttered,  and  her  feelings  will  be  hurt  if  she  is  not  thought 
genteel.’  That  is  the  lot  Miss  Esther  is  preparing  for  some 
man  or  other.  I could  grind  my  teeth  at  such  self-satisfied 
minxes,  who  think  they  can  tell  everybody  what  is  the  cor- 
rect thing,  and  the  utmost  stretch  of  their  ideas  will  not 
place  them  on  a level  with  the  intelligent  fleas.  I should 
like  to  see  if  she  could  be  made  ashamed  of  herself.” 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Though  she  be  dead,  yet  let  me  think  she  lives, 

And  feed  my  mind,  that  dies  for  want  of  her. 

— Marlowe  : Tamburlaine  the  Great . 

Hardly  any  one  in  Treby  who  thought  at  all  of  Mr.  Lyon 
and  his  daughter  had  not  felt  the  same  sort  of  wonder  about 
Esther  as  Felix  felt.  She  was  not  much  liked  by  her  father’s 
church  and  congregation.  The  less  serious  observed  that 
she  had  too  many  airs  and  graces  and  held  her-  head  much 
too  high  ; the  stricter  sort  feared  greatly  that  Mr.  Lyon  had 
not  been  sufficiently  careful  in  placing  his  daughter  among 
God-fearing  people,  and  that,  being  led  astray  by  the  melan- 
choly vanity  of  giving  her  exceptional  accomplishments,  he 
had  sent  her  to  a French  school,  and  allowed  her  to  take 


THE  RADICAL. 


69 


situations  where  she  had  contracted  notions  not  only  above 
her  own  rank,  but  of  too  worldly  a kind  to  be  safe  in  any 
rank.  But  no  one  knew  what  sort  of  woman  her  ftiother 
had  been,  for  Mr.  Lyon  never  spoke  of  his  past  domestici- 
ties. When  he  was  chosen  as  pastor  at  Treby  in  1825,  it 
was  understood  that  he  had  been  a widower  many  years, 
and  he  had  no  companion  but  the  tearful  and  much-exer- 
cised Lyddy,  his  daughter  being  still  at  school.  It  was  only 
two  years  ago  that  Esther  had  come  home  to  live  perma- 
nently with  her  father,  and  take  pupils  in  the  town.  Within 
that  time  she  had  excited  a passion  in  two  young  Dissenting 
breasts  that  were  clad  in  the  best  style  of  Treby  waist-coat — a 
garment  which  at  that  period  displayed  much  design  both  in 
the  stuff  and  the  wearer  ; and  she  had  secured  an  astonished 
admiration  of  her  cleverness  from  the  girls  of  various  ages 
who  were  her  pupils  ; indeed,  her  knowledge  of  French  was 
generally  held  to  give  a distinction  to  Treby  itself  as  com- 
pared with  other  market-towns.  But  she  had  won  little 
regard  of  any  other  kind.  Wise  Dissenting  matrons  were 
divided  between  fear  lest  their  sons  should  want  to  marry 
her  and  resentment  that  she  should  treat  those  “ undeniable  ” 
young  men  with  a distant  scorn  which  was  hardly  to  be  toler- 
ated in  a minister’s  daughter  ; not  only  because  that  par- 
entage appeared  to  entail  an  obligation  to  show  an  excep- 
tional degree  of  Christian  humility,  but  because,  looked  at 
from  a secular  point  of  view,  a poor  minister  must  be  below 
the  substantial  householders  who  keep  him.  For  at  that 
time  the  preacher  who  was  paid  under  the  Voluntary  system 
was  regarded  by  his  flock  with  feelings  not  less  mixed  than 
the  spiritual  person  who  still  took  his  tithe-pig  or  his  modus . 
His  gifts  were  admired,  and  tears  were  shed  under  best 
bonnets  at  his  sermons  ; but  the  weaker  tea  was  thought 
good  enough  for  him  ; and  even  when  he  went  to  preach 
a charity  sermon  in  a strange  town,  he  was  treated  with 
home-made  wine  and  the  smaller  bedroom.  As  the  good 
Churchman’s  reverence  was  often  mixed  with  growling,  and 
was  apt  to  be  given  chiefly  to  an  abstract  parson  who  was 
what  a parson  ought  to  be,  so  the  good  Dissenter  sometimes 
mixed  his  approval  of  ministerial  gifts  with  considerable 
criticism  and  cheapening  of  the  human  vessel  which  con- 
tained those  treasures.  Mrs.  Muscat  and  Mrs.  Nuttwood 
applied  the  principle  of  Christian  equality  by  remarking 
that  Mr.  Lyon  had  his  oddities,  and  that  he  ought  not  to 
allow  his  daughter  to  indulge  in  such  unbecoming  expendi- 


70 


FELIX  HOLT, 


ture  on  her  gloves,  shoes,  and  hosiery,  even  if  she  did  pay 
for  them  out  of  her  earnings.  As  for  the  Church  people  who 
engaged  Miss  Lyon  to  give  lessons  in  their  families,  their 
imaginations  were  altogether  prostrated  by  the  incongruity 
between  accomplishments  and  Dissent,  between  weekly 
prayer-meetings  and  a conversance  with  so  lively  and  alto- 
gether worldly  a language  as  the  French.  Esther’s  own 
mind  was  not  free  from  a sense  of  irreconcilableness  be- 
tween the  objects  of  her  taste  and  the  conditions  of  her 
lot.  She  knew  that  Dissenters  were  looked  down  upon 
by  those  whom  she  regarded  as  the  most  refined  classes  ; 
her  favorite  companions,  both  in  France  and  at  an 
English  school  where  she  had  been  a junior  teacher, 
had  thought  it  quite  ridiculous  to  have  a father  who 
was  a Dissenting  preacher  ; and  when  an  ardently  admiring 
school-fellow  induced  her  parents  to  take  Esther  as  a gov- 
erness to  the  younger  children,  all  her  native  tendencies 
toward  luxury,  fastidiousness,  and  scorn  of  mock  gentility, 
were  strengthened  by  witnessing  the  habits  of  a well-born 
and  wealthy  family.  Yet  the  position  of  servitude  was  irk- 
some to  her,  and  she  was  glad  at  last  to  live  at  home  with 
her  father,  for  though,  throughout  her  girlhood,  she  had 
wished  to  avoid  this  lot,  a little  experience  had  taught  her 
to  prefer  its  comparative  independence.  But  she  was  not 
contented  with  her  life  ; she  seemed  to  herself  to  be  sur- 
rounded with  ignoble,  uninteresting  conditions,  from  which 
there  was  no  issue  ; for  even  if  she  had  been  unamiable 
enough  to  give  her  father  pain  deliberately,  it  would  have 
been  no  satisfaction  to  her  to  go  to  Treby  church,  and  visibly 
turn  her  back  on  Dissent.  It  was  not  religious  differences, 
but  social  differences,  that  Esther  was  concerned  about, 
and  her  ambitious  taste  would  have  been  no  more  gratified 
in  the  society  of  the  Waces  than  in  that  of  the  Muscats. 
The  Waces  spoke  imperfect  English  and  played  whist ; the 
Muscats  spoke  the  same  dialect  and  took  in  the  “ Evangeli- 
cal Magazine.”  Esther  liked  neither  of  these  amusements. 
She  had  one  of  those  exceptional  organizations  which  are 
quick  and  sensitive  without  being  in  the  least  morbid  ; she 
was  alive  to  the  finest  shades  of  manner,  to  the  nicest  dis- 
tinctions of  tone  and  accent  ; she  had  a little  code  of  her 
own  about  scents  and  colors,  textures  and  behavior,  by 
which  she  secretly  condemned  or  sanction  d all  things  and 
persons.  And  she  was  well  satisfied  with  herself  for  her 
fastidious  taste,  never  doubting  that  hers  was  the  highest 


THE  RADICAL. 


71 


standard.  She  was  proud  that  the  best-born  and  hand- 
somest girls  at  school  had  always  said  that  she  might  be 
taken  for  a born  lady.  Her  own  pretty  instep,  clad  in  a 
silk  stocking,  her  little  heel,  just  rising  from  a kid  slipper, 
her  irreproachable  nails  and  delicate  wrist,  were  the  objects 
of  delighted  consciousness  to  her  ; and  she  felt  that  it  was 
her  superiority  which  made  her  unable  to  use  without  dis- 
gust any  but  the  finest  cambric  handkerchiefs  and  freshest 
gloves.  Her  money  all  went  in  the  gratification  of  these 
nice  tastes,  and  she  saved  nothing  from  her  earnings.  I can 
not  say  that  she  had  pangs  of  conscience  on  this  score;  for  she 
felt  sure  that  she  was  generous:  she  hated  all  meanness,  would 
empty  her  purse  impulsively  on  some  sudden  appeal  to  her 
pity,  and  if  she  found  out  that  her  father  had  a want,  she  would 
supply  it  with  some  pretty  device  of  a surprise.  But  then  the 
good  man  so  seldom  had  a want — except  the  perpetual  de- 
sire, which  she  could  never  gratify,  of  seeing  her  under  con- 
victions, and  fit  to  become  a member  of  the  church. 

As  for  little  Mr.  Lyon,  he  loved  and  admired  this  unre- 
generate child  more,  he  feared,  than  was  consistent  with 
the  due  preponderance  of  impersonal  and  ministerial 
regards  : he  prayed  and  pleaded  for  her  with  tears,  hum- 
bling himself  for  her  spiritual  deficiencies  in  the  privacy  of 
his  study  ; and  then  came  down  stairs  to  find  himself  in 
timorous  subjection  to  her  wishes,  lest,  as  he  inwardly  said, 
he  should  give  his  teaching  an  ill  savor,  by  mingling  it  with 
outward  crossing.  There  will  be  queens  in  spite  of  Salic  or 
other  laws  of  later  date  than  Adam  and  Eve  ; and  here  in 
this  small  dingy  house  of  the  minister  in  Malthouse  Yard, 
there  was  a light-footed,  sweet-voiced  Queen  Esther. 

The  stronger  will  always  rule,  say  some,  with  an  air  of 
confidence  which  is  like  a lawyer’s  flourish,  forbidding 
exceptions  or  additions.  But  what  is  strength  ? Is  it  blind 
wilfulness  that  sees  no  terrors,  no  many-linked  consequences, 
no  bruises  and  wounds  of  those  whose  cords  it  tightens  ? Is 
it  the  narrowness  of  a brain  that  conceives  no  needs  differ- 
ing from  its  own,  and  looks  to  no  results  beyond  the  bar- 
gains of  to-day ; that  tugs  with  emphasis  for  every  small 
purpose,  and  thinks  it  weakness  to  exercise  the  sublime 
power  of  resolved  renunciation  ? There  is  a sort  of  subjec- 
tion which  is  the  peculiar  heritage  of  largeness  and  of  love  ; 
and  strength  is  often  only  another  name  for  willing  bondage 
to  irremediable  weakness. 

Esther  had  affection  for  her  father  : she  recognized  the 


72 


FELIX  HOLT, 


purity  of  his  character,  and  a quickness  of  intellect  in  him 
which  responded  to  her  own  liveliness,  in  spite  of  what 
seemed  a dreary  piety,  which  selected  everything  that  was 
least  interesting  and  romantic  in  life  and  history.  But  his 
old  clothes  had  a smoky  odor,  and  she  did  not  like  to  walk 
with  him,  because,  when  people  spoke  to  him  in  the  street, 
it  was  his  wont,  instead  of  remarking  on  the  weather  and 
passing  on,  to  pour  forth  in  an  absent  manner  some  reflec- 
tions that  were  occupying  his  mind  about  the  traces  of  the 
Divine  government,  or  about  a peculiar  incident  narrated 
in  the  life  of  the  eminent  Mr.  Richard  Baxter.  Esther  had 
a horror  of  appearing  ridiculous  even  in  the  eyes  of  vulgar 
Trebians.  She  fancied  that  she  should  have  loved  her  mother 
better  than  she  was  able  to  love  her  father  ; and  she  wished 
she  could  have  remembered  that  mother  more  thoroughly. 

But  she  had  no  more  than  a broken  vision  of  the  time  be- 
fore she  was  five  years  old — the  time  when  the  word  often- 
est  on  her  lips  was  “ Mamma  ” ; when  a low  voice  spoke  ca- 
ressing French  words  to  her,  and  she  in  her  turn  repeated 
the  words  to  her  rag  doll  ; when  a very  small  white  hand, 
different  from  any  that  came  after,  used  to  pat  her,  and 
stroke  her,  and  tie  on  her  frock  and  pinafore,  and  when  at 
last  there  was  nothing  but  sitting  with  a doll  on  a bed  where 
mamma  was  lying,  till  her  father  once  carried  her  away. 
Where  distinct  memory  began,  there  was  no  longer  the  low 
caressing  voice  and  the  small  white  hand.  She  knew  that 
her  mother  was  a Frenchwoman,  that  she  had  been  in  want 
and  distress,  and  that  her  maiden  name  was  Annette  Ledru. 
Her  father  had  told  her  no  more  than  this  ; and  once,  he  had 
said,  “ My  Esther,  until  you  are  a woman,  we  will  only  think 
of  your  mother  : when  you  are  about  to  be  married  and  leave 
me,  we  will  speak  of  her,  and  I will  deliver  to  you  her  ring 
and  all  thatwas  hers;  but,  without  a great  command  laid  upon 
me,  I cannot  pierce  my  heart  by  speaking  of  that  which  was 
and  is  not.”  Esther  had  never  forgotten  these  words,  and 
the  older  she  became,  the  more  impossible  she  felt  it  that 
she  should  urge  her  father  with  questions  about  the  past. 

His  inability  to  speak  of  that  past  to  her  depended  on  man- 
ifold causes.  Partly  it  came  from  an  initial  concealment. 
He  had  not  the  courage  to  tell  Esther  that  he  was  not  really 
her  father  : he  had  not  the  courage  to  renounce  that  hold 
on  her  tenderness  which  the  belief  in  his  natural  fatherhood 
must  help  to  give  him,  or  to  incur  any  resentment  that  her 
quick  spirit  might  feel  at  having  been  brought  up  under  a 


THE  RADICAL. 


73 


false  supposition.  But  there  were  other  things  yet  more 
difficult  for  him  to  be  quite  open  about — deep  sorrows  of  his 
life  as  a Christian  minister  that  were  hardly  to  be  told  to  a girl. 

Twenty-two  years  ago,  when  Rufus  Lyon  was  no  more  than 
thirty-six  years  old,  he  was  the  admired  pastor  of  a large 
Independent  congregation  in  one  of  our  southern  seaport 
towns.  He  was  unmarried,  and  had  met  all  exhortations  of 
friends  who  represented  to  him  that  a bishop,  i.  e .,  the  over- 
seer of  an  Independent  church  and  congregation — should  be 
the  husband  of  one  wife,  by  saying  that  St.  Paul  meant  this 
particular  as  a limitation,  and  not  as  an  injunction  ; that  a 
minister  was  permitted  to  have  one  wife,  but  that  he,  Rufus 
Lyon,  did  not  wish  to  avail  himself  of  that  permission,  find- 
ing his  studies  and  other  labors  of  his  vocation  all-absorbing, 
and  seeing  that  mothers  in  Israel  were  sufficiently  provided 
by  those  who  had  not  been  set  apart  for  a more  special  work. 
His  church  and  congregation  were  proud  of  him  : he  was 
put  forward  on  platforms,  was  made  a “ deputation,”  and  was 
requested  to  preach  anniversary  sermons  in  far-off  towns. 
Wherever  noteworthy  preachers  were  discussed,  Rufus  Lyon 
was  almost  sure  to  be  mentioned  as  one  who  did  honor  to 
the  Independent  body  ; his  sermons  were  said  to  be  full  of 
fire  ; and  while  he  had  more  of  human  knowledge  than  many 
of  his  brethren,  he  showed  in  an  eminent  degree  the  marks 
of  a true  ministerial  vocation.  But  on  a sudden  this  burn- 
ing and  shining  light  seemed  to  be  quenched  : Mr.  Lyon 
voluntarily  resigned  his  charge  and  withdrew  from  the  town. 

A terrible  crisis  had  come  upon  him  ; a moment  in  which 
religious  doubt  and  newly-awakened  passion  had  rushed 
together  in  a common  flood,  and  had  paralyzed  his  minis- 
terial gifts.  His  thirty-six  years  had  been  a story  of  purely 
religious  and  studious  fervor  ; his  passion  had  been  for  doc- 
trines, for  argumentative  conquest  on  the  side  of  right ; the 
sins  he  had  chiefly  to  pray  against  had  been  those  of  per- 
sonal ambition  (under  such  forms  as  ambition  takes  in  the 
mind  of  a man  who  has  chosen  the  career  of  an  Independent 
preacher),  and  those  of  a too  restless  intellect,  ceaselessly 
urging  questions  concerning  the  mystery  of  that  which  was 
assuredly  revealed,  and  thus  hindering  the  due  nourishment 
of  the  soul  on  the  substance  of  the  truth  delivered.  Even 
at  that  time  of  comparative  youth,  his  unworldliness  and 
simplicity  in  small  matters  (for  he  was  keenly  awake  to  the 
larger  affairs  of  this  world)  gave  a certain  oddity  to  his  man- 
ners and  appearance  ; and  though  his  sensitive  face  had 


74 


FELIX  HOLT, 


much  beauty,  his  person  altogether  seemed  so  irrelevant  to 
a fashionable  view  of  things,  that  well  dressed  ladies  and 
gentlemen  usually  laughed  at  him,  as  they  probably  did  at 
Mr.  John  Milton  after  the  Restoration  and  ribbons  had  come 
in,  and  still  more  at  that  apostle,  of  weak  bodily  presence, 
who  preached  in  the  back  streets  of  Ephesus  and  elsewhere, 
a new  view  of  a religion  that  hardly  anybody  believed  in. 
Rufus  Lyon  was  the  singular-looking  apostle  of  the  Meeting 
in  Skipper’s  Lane.  Was  it  likely  that  any  romance  should 
befall  such  a man?  Perhaps  not;  but  romance  did  befall  him. 

One  winter’s  evening  in  1812,  Mr.  Lyon  was  returning 
from  a village  preaching.  He  walked  at  his  usual  rapid 
rate,  with  busy  thoughts  undisturbed  by  any  sight  more  dis- 
tinct than  the  bushes  and  the  hedgerow  trees,  black  beneath 
a faint  moonlight,  until  something  suggested  to  him  that  he 
had  perhaps  omitted  to  bring  away  with  him  a thin  account- 
book  in  which  he  recorded  certain  subscriptions.  He  paused, 
unfastened  his  outer  coat,  and  felt  in  all  his  pockets,  then  he 
took  off  his  hat  and  looked  inside  it.  The  book  was  not  to  be 
found,  and  he  was  about  to  walk  on,  when  he  was  startled  by 
hearing  a low,  sweet  voice,  say,  with  a strong  foreign  accent — 

“ Have  pity  on  me,  sir.” 

Searching  with  his  short-sighted  eyes,  he  perceived  some 
one  on  a side-bank ; and  approaching,  he  found  a young 
woman  with  a baby  on  her  lap.  She  spoke  again  more 
faintly  than  before. 

“ Sir,  I die  with  hunger ; in  the  name  of  God  take  the 
little  one.” 

There  was  no  distrusting  the  pale  face  and  the  sweet  low 
voice.  Without  pause,  Mr.  Lyon  took  the  baby  in  his  arms 
and  said,  “ Can  you  walk  by  my  side,  young  woman  ? ” 

She  rose,  but  seemed  tottering.  u Lean  on  me,”  said  Mr. 
Lyon,  and  so  they  walked  slowly  on,  the  minister  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  carrying  a baby. 

Nothing  better  occurred  to  him  than  to  take  his  charge  to 
his  own  house  ; it  was  the  simplest  way  of  relieving  the 
woman’s  wants,  and  finding  out  how  she  could  be  helped 
further  ; and  he  thought  of  no  other  possibilities.  She  was 
too  feeble  for  more  words  to  be  spoken  between  them  till 
she  was  seated  by  his  fireside.  His  elderly  servant  was  not 
easily  amazed  at  anything  her  master  did  in  the  way  of 
charity,  and  at  once  took  the  baby,  while  Mr.  Lyon  unfasL 
ened  the  mother’s  damp  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  gave  her 
something  warm  to  drink.  Then,  waiting  by  her  till  it  was 


THE  RADICAL. 


75 


time  to  offer  her  more,  he  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  notice 
the  loveliness  of  her  face,  which  seemed  to  him  as  that  of  an 
angel,  with  a benignity  in  its  repose  that  carried  a more 
assured  sweetness  than  any  smile.  Gradually  she  revived, 
lifted  up  her  delicate  hands  between  her  face  and  the  fire- 
light, and  looked  at  the  baby  which  lay  opposite  to  her  on 
the  old  servant’s  lap,  taking  in  spoonfuls  with  much  content, 
and  stretching  out  naked  feet  toward  the  warmth.  Then, 
as  her  consciousness  of  relief  grew  into  contrasting  memory, 
she  lifted  up  her  eyes  to  Mr.  Lyon,  who  stood  close  by  her, 
and  said,  in  her  pretty  broken  way  : 

“ I knew  you  had  a good  heart  when  you  took  your  hat  off. 
You  seemed  to  me  as  the  image  of  the  bien-amie  Saint  Jean." 

The  grateful  glance  of  those  blue-gray  eyes,  with  their 
long  shadow-making  eyelashes,  was  a new  kind  of  good  to 
Rufus  Lyon  ; it  seemed  to  him  as  if  a woman  had  never  really 
looked  at  him  before.  Yet  this  poor  thing  was  apparently 
a blind  French  Catholic — of  delicate  nurture,  surely,  judg- 
ing from  her  hands.  He  was  in  a tremor  ; he  felt  that  it 
would  be  rude  to  question  her,  and  he  only  urged  her  now 
to  take  a little  food.  She  accepted  it  with  evident  enjoy- 
ment, looking  at  the  child  continually,  and  then,  with  a 
fresh  burst  of  gratitude,  leaning  forward  to  press  the  ser- 
vant’s hand  and  say,  “ Oh,  you  are  good  ! ” Then  she  looked 
up  at  Mr.  Lyon  again  and  said,  “Is  there  in  the  world  a 
prettier  marmot  ?" 

The  evening  passed  ; a bed  was  made  up  for  the  strange 
woman,  and  Mr.  Lyon  had  not  asked  her  so  much  as  her 
name.  He  never  went  to  bed  himself  that  night.  He  spent 
it  in  misery,  enduring  a horrible  assault  of  Satan.  He  thought 
a frenzy  had  seized  him.  Wild  visions  of  an  impossible 
future  thrust  themselves  upon  him.  He  dreaded  lest  the 
woman  had  a husband  ; he  wished  that  he  might  call  her  his 
own,  that  he  might  worship  her  beauty,  that  she  might  love 
and  caress  him.  And  what  to  the  mass  of  men  would  have 
been  only  one  of  many  allowable  follies — a transient  fasci- 
nation, to  be  dispelled  by  daylight  and  contact  with  those 
common  facts  of  which  common-sense  is  the  reflex — was  to 
him  a spiritual  convulsion.  He  was  as  one  who  raved,  and 
knew  that  he  raved.  These  mad  wishes  were  irreconcilable 
with  what  he  was,  and  must  be,  as  a Christian  minister,  nay, 
penetrating  his  soul  as  tropic  heat  penetrates  the  frame,  and 
changes  for  it  all  aspects  and  all  flavors,  they  were  irrecon- 
cilable with  that  conception  of  the  world  which  made  his 


7 6 


FELIX  HOLT, 


faith.  All  the  busy  doubt  which  had  before  been  mere  imp- 
ish shadows  flitting  around  a belief  that  was  strong  with  the 
strength  of  an  unswerving  moral  bias,  had  now  gathered 
blood  and  substance.  The  questioning  spirit  had  become 
suddenly  bold  and  blasphemous  ; it  no  longer  insinuated 
scepticism — it  prompted  defiance  ; it  no  longer  expressed 
cool,  inquisitive  thought,  but  was  the  voice  of  a passionate 
mood.  Yet  he  never  ceased  to  regard  it  as  the  voice  of  the 
tempter  : the  conviction  which  had  been  the  law  of  his 
better  life  remained  within  him  as  a conscience. 

The  struggle  of  that  night  was  an  abridgment  of  all  the 
struggles  that  came  after.  Quick  souls  have  their  intensest 
life  in  the  first  anticipatory  sketch  of  what  may  or  will  be, 
and  the  pursuit  of  their  wish  is  the  pursuit  of  that  para* 
disiacal  vision  which  only  impelled  them,  and  is  left  farther 
and  farther  behind,  vanishing  forever  even  out  of  hope  in 
the  moment  which  is  called  success.' 

The  next  morning  Mr. Lyon  heard  his  guest’s  history.  She 
was  the  daughter  of  a French  officer  of  considerable  rank, 
who  had  fallen  in  the  Russian  campaign.  She  had  escaped 
from  France  to  England  with  much  difficulty  in  order  to 
rejoin  her  husband,  a young  Englishman,  to  whom  she  had 
become  attached  during  his  detention  as  a prisoner  of  war 
on  parole  at  Vesoul,  where  she  was  living  under  the  charge 
of  some  relatives,  and  to  whom  she  had  been  married  with- 
out the  consent  of  her  family.  Her  husband  had  served  in 
the  Hanoverian  army,  had  obtained  his  discharge  in  order 
to  visit  England  on  some  business,  with  the  nature  of  which 
she  was  not  acquainted,  and  had  been  taken  prisoner  as  a 
suspected  spy.  A short  time  after  their  marriage  he  and  his 
fellow-prisoners  had  been  moved  to  a town  nearer  the  coast, 
and  she  had  remained  in  wretched  uncertainty  about  him, 
until  at  last  a letter  had  come  from  him  telling  her  that  an 
exchange  of  prisoners  had  occurred,  that  he  was  in  England, 
that  she  must  use  her  utmost  effort  to  follow  him,  and  that  on 
arriving  on  English  ground  she  must  send  him  word  under  a 
cover  which  he  enclosed,  bearing  an  address  in  London. 
Fearing  the  opposition  of  her  friends,  she  started  unknown 
to  them, with  a very  small  supply  of  money;  and  after  endur- 
ing much  discomfort  and  many  fears  in  waiting  for  a passage 
which  she  at  last  got  in  a small  trading  smack,  she  arrived 
at  Southampton — ill.  Before  she  was  able  to  write,  her 

baby  was  born  ; and  before  her  husband’s  answer  came,  she 
had  been  obliged  to  pawn  some  clothes  and  trinkets,  He 


THE  RADICAL. 


77 


desired  her  to  travel  to  London  where  he  would  meet  her 
at  the  Belle  Sauvage,  adding  that  he  was  himself  in  distress, 
and  unable  to  come  to  her  : when  once  she  was  in  London 
they  would  take  ship  and  quit  the  country.  Arrived  at 
the  Belle  Sauvage,  the  poor  thing  waited  three  days  in  vain 
for  her  husband  : on  the  fourth  a letter  came  in  a strange 
hand,  saying  that  in  his  last  moments  he  had  desired  this 
letter  to  be  written  to  inform  her  of  his  death,  and  recom- 
mend her  to  return  to  her  friends.  She  could  choose  no  other 
course,  but  she  had  soon  been  reduced  to  walking,  that  she 
might  save  her  pence  to  buy  bread  with  : and  on  the  even- 
ing when  she  made  her  appeal  to  Mr.  Lyon,  she  had  pawned 
the  last  thing,  over  and  above  needful  clothing,  that  she  could 
persuade  herself  to  part  with.  The  things  she  had  not  borne 
to  part  with  were  her  marriage-ring,  and  a locket  containing 
her  husband’s  hair,  and  bearing  his  baptismal  name.  This 
locket,  she  said,  exactly  resembled  one  worn  by  her  husband 
on  his  watch-chain,  only  that  his  bore  the  name  Annette, 
and  contained  a lock  of  her  hair.  The  precious  trifle  now 
hung  round  her  neck  by  a cord,  for  she  had  sold  the  small 
gold  chain  which  formerly  held  it. 

The  only  guarantee  of  this  story,  besides  the  exquisite 
candor  of  her  face,  was  a small  packet  of  papers  which  she 
carried  in  her  pocket,  consisting  of  her  husband’s  few  letters, 
the  letter  which  announced  his  death, and  her  marriage  certifi- 
cate. It  was  not  so  probable  a story  as  that  of  many  an  in- 
ventive vagrant  ; but  Mr.  Lyon  did  not  doubt  it  for  a mo- 
ment. It  was  impossible  to  him  to  suspect  this  angelic-faced 
woman, but  he  had  strong  suspicions  concerning  her  husband. 
He  could  not  help  being  glad  that  she  had  not  retained  the 
address  he  had  desired  her  to  send  to  in  London,  as  that 
removed  any  obvious  means  of  learning  particulars  about 
him.  But  enquiries  might  have  been  made  at  Vesoul  by  letter, 
and  her  friends  there  might  have  been  appealed  to.  A con- 
sciousness, not  to  be  quite  silenced,4  told  Mr.  Lyon  that  this 
was  the  course  he  ought  to  take,  but  it  would  have  required 
an  energetic  self-conquest,  and  he  was  excused  from  it  by 
Annette’s  own  disinclination  to  return  to  her  relatives,  if 
any  other  acceptable  possibility  could  be  found. 

He  dreaded,  with  a-  violence  of  feeling  which  surmounted 
all  struggles,  lest  anything  should  take  her  away,  and  place 
such  barriers  between  them  as  would  make  it  unlikely  or  impos- 
sible that  she  should  ever  love  him  well  enough  to  become 
his  wife.  Yet  he  saw  with  perfect  clearness  that  unless  he 


73 


FELIX  HOLT, 


tore  up  his  mad  passion  by  the  roots,  his  ministerial  useful- 
ness would  be  frustrated,  and  the  repose  of  his  soul  would 
be  destroyed.  This  woman  was  an  unregenerate  Catholic  ; 
ten  minutes'  listening  to  her  artless  talk  made  that  plain  to 
him  : even  if  her  position  had  been  less  equivocal,  to  unite 
himself  to  such  a woman  was  nothing  less  than  a spiritual 
fall.  It  was  already  a fall  that  he  had  wished  there  was  no 
high  purpose  to  which  he  owed  an  allegiance — that  he  had 
longed  to  fly  to  some  backwoods  where  there  was  no  church 
to  reproach  him,  and  where  he  might  have  this  sweet  woman 
to  wife,  and  to  know  the  joys  of  tenderness.  Those  sensi- 
bilities which  in  most  lives  are  diffused  equally  through  the 
youthful  years,  were  aroused  suddenly  in  Mr.  Lyon,  as  some 
men  have  their  special  genius  revealed  to  them  by  a tardy 
concurrence  of  conditions.  His  love  was  the  first  love  of  a 
fresh  young  heart  full  of  wonder  and  worship.  But  what  to 
one  man  is  the  virtue  which  he  has  sunk  below  the  possibil- 
ity of  aspiring  to,  is  to  another  the  backsliding  by  which  he 
forfeits  his  spiritual  crown. 

The  end  was,  that  Annette  remained  in  his  house.  He 
had  striven  against  himself  so  far  as  to  represent  her  posi- 
tion to  some  chief  matrons  in  his  congregation,  praying  and 
yet  dreading  that  they  would  so  take  her  by  the  hand  as  to 
impose  on  him  that  denial  of  his  own  longing  not  to  let  her 
go  out  of  his  sight,  which  he  found  it  too  hard  to  impose  on 
himself.  But  they  regarded  the  case  coldly  ; the  woman 
was,  after  all,  a vagrant.  Mr.  Lyon  was  observed  to  be  sur- 
prisingly weak  on  the  subject — his  eagerness  seemed  dispro- 
portionate and  unbecoming  ; and  this  young  Frenchwoman, 
unable  to  express  herself  very  clearly,  was  no  more  interest- 
ing to  those  matrons  and  their  husbands  than  other  pretty 
young  women  suspiciously  circumstanced.  They  were  will- 
ing to  subscribe  something  to  carry  her  on  her  way,  or  if  she 
took  some  lodgings  they  would  give  her  a little  sewing,  and 
endeavor  to  convert  her  from  Papistry.  If,  however,  she 
was  a respectable  person,  as  she  said,  the  only  proper  thing 
for  her  was  to  go  back  to  her  own  country  and  friends.  In 
spite  of  himself,  Mr.  Lyon  exulted.  There  seemed  a reason 
now  that  he  should  keep  Annette  under  his  own  eyes.  He  told 
himself  that  no  real  object  would  be  served  by  his  providing 
food  and  lodging  for  her  elsewhere — an  expense  which  he 
could  ill  afford.  And  she  was  apparently  so  helpless,  except  as 
to  the  one  task  of  attending  to  her  baby,  that  it  would  have 
been  folly  to  think  of  her  exerting  herself  for  her  own  support. 


THE  RADICAL. 


79 


But  this  course  of  his  was  severely  disapproved  by  his 
church.  There  were  various  signs  that  the  minister  was 
under  some  evil  influence  : his  preaching  wanted  its  old  fer- 
vor, he  seemed  to  shun  the  intercourse  of  his  brethren,  and 
very  mournful  suspicions  were  entertained.  A formal  re- 
monstrance was  presented  to  him,  but  he  met  it  as  if  he  had 
already  determined  to  act  in  anticipation  of  it.  He  admitted 
that  external  circumstances,  conjoined  with  a peculiar  state 
of  mind,  were  likely  to  hinder  the  fruitful  exercise  of  his 
ministry,  and  he  resigned  it.  There  was  much  sorrowing, 
much  expostulation,  but  he  declared  that  for  the  present  he 
was  unable  to  unfold  himself  more  fully  ; he  only  wished  to 
state  solemnly  that  Annette  Ledru,  though  blind  in  spiritual 
things,  was  in  a worldly  sense  a pure  and  virtuous  woman. 
No  more  was  to  be  said,  and  he  departed  to  a distant  town. 
Here  he  maintained  himself,  Annette  and  the  child,  with 
the  remainder  of  his  stipend,  and  with  the  wages  he  earned 
as  a printer’s  reader.  Annette  was  one  of  those  angelic- 
faced helpless  women  who  take  all  things  as  manna  from 
heaven  : the  good  image  of  the  well-beloved  Saint  John 
wished  her  to  stay  with  him,  and  there  was  nothing  else 
that  she  wished  for  except  the  unattainable.  Yet  for  a 
whole  year  Mr.  Lyon  never  dared  to  tell  Annette  that  he 
loved  her  : he  trembled  before  this  woman  ; he  saw  that  the 
idea  of  his  being  her  lover  was  too  remote  from  her  mind 
for  her  to  have  any  idea  that  she  ought  not  to  live  with  him. 
She  had  never  known,  never  asked  the  reason  why  he  gave 
up  his  ministry.  She  seemed  to  entertain  as  little  concern 
about  the  strange  world  in  which  she  lived  as  a bird  in  its 
nest : an  avalanche  had  fallen  over  the  past,  but  she  sat 
warm  and  uncrushed — there  was  food  for  many  morrows, 
and  her  baby  flourished.  She  did  not  seem  even  to  care 
about  a priest,  or  about  having  her  child  baptized  ; and  on 
the  subject  of  religion  Mr.  Lyon  was  as  timid,  and  shrank  as 
much  from  speaking  to  her,  as  on  the  subject  of  his  love. 
He  dreaded  anything  that  might  cause  her  to  feel  a sudden 
repulsion  toward  him.  He  dreaded  disturbing  her  simple 
gratitude  and  content.  In  these  days  his  religious  faith  was 
not  slumbering  ; it  was  awake  and  achingly  conscious  of 
having  fallen  in  a struggle.  He  had  had  a great  treasure 
committed  to  him,  and  had  flung  it  away  : he  held  himself 
a backslider.  His  unbelieving  thoughts  never  gained  the 
full  ear  and  consent  of  his  soul.  His  prayers  had  been 
stifled  by  the  sense  that  there  was  something  he  preferred 


8o 


FELIX  HOLT, 


to  complete  obedience  ; they  had  ceased  to  be  anything  but 
intermittent  cries  and  confessions,  and  a submissive  presenti- 
ment, rising  at  times  even  to  an  entreaty,  that  some  great 
discipline  might  come,  that  the  dull  spiritual  sense  might  be 
roused  to  full  vision  and  hearing  as  of  old,  and  the  supreme 
facts  become  again  supreme  in  his  soul.  Mr.  Lyon  will  per- 
haps seem  a very  simple  personage,  with  pitiably  narrow 
theories  ; but  none  of  our  theories  are  quite  large  enough 
for  all  the  disclosures  of  time,  and  to  the  end  of  men’s 
struggles  a penalty  will  remain  for  those  who  sink  from  the 
ranks  of  the  heroes  into  the  crowd  for  whom  the  heroes  fight 
and  die. 

One  day,  however,  Annette  learned  Mr.  Lyon’s  secret. 
The  baby  had  a tooth  coming,  and  being  large  and  strong 
now,  was  noisily  fretful.  Mr.  Lyon,  though  he  had  been 
working  extra  hours  and  was  much  in  need  of  repose,  took 
the  child  from  its  mother  immediately  on  entering  the  house 
and  walked  about  with  it,  patting  and  talking  soothingly  to  it. 
The  stronger  grasp,  the  new  sensations,  were  a successful 
anodyne,  and  baby  went  to  sleep  on  his  shoulder.  But  fear- 
ful lest  any  movement  should  disturb  it,  he  sat  down,  and 
endured  the  bondage  of  holding  it  still  against  his  shoulder. 

“ You  do  nurse  baby  well,”  said  Annette,  approvingly. 
“ Yet  you  never  nursed  before  I came  ? ” 

“ No/’  said  Mr.  Lyon.*  “1  had  no  brothers  and  sisters.” 
“ Why  were  you  not  married  ?”  Annette  had  never  thought 
of  asking  that  question  before. 

“ Because  I never  loved  any  woman — till  now.  I thought 
I should  never  marry.  Now  I wish  to  marry.” 

Annette  started.  She  did  not  see  at  once  that  she  was  the 
woman  he  wanted  to  marry  ; what  had  flashed  on  h&r  mind 
was,  that  there  might  be  a great  change  in  Mr.  Lyon’s  life. 
It  was  as  if  the  lightning  had  entered  into  her  dream  and 
half  awaked  her. 

“ Do  you  think  it  foolish,  Annette,  that  I should  wish  to 
marry  ?” 

“ I did  not  expect  it,”  she  said,  doubtfully.  “ I did  not 
know  you  thought  about  it.” 

“ You  know  the  woman  I should  like  to  marry  ? ” 

“ I know  her  ? ” she  said,  interrogatively,  blushing  deeply. 
“It  is  you,  Annette — you  whom  I have  loved  better  than 
my  duty.  I forsook  everything  for  you.” 

Mr.  Lyon  paused  : he  was  about  to  do  what  he  felt  would 
be  ignoble — to  urge  what  seemed  like  a claim. 


THE  RADICAL. 


81 


“ Can  you  love  me,  Annette  ? Will  you  be  my  wife  ? ” 
Annette  trembled  and  looked  miserable. 

“ Do  not  speak — forget  it,”  said  Mr.  Lyon,  rising  sudden- 
ly and  speaking  with  loud  energy.  “ No,  no— I do  not  want 
it — I do  not  wish  it.” 

The  baby  awoke  as  he  started  up  ; he  gave  the  child  into 
Annette’s  arms,  and  left  her. 

His  work  took  him  away  early  the  next  morning  and  the 
next  again.  They  did  not  need  to  speak  much  to  each  other. 
The  third  day  Mr.  Lyon  was  too  ill  to  go  to  work.  His 
frame  had  been  overwrought  ; he  had  been  too  poor  to  have 
sufficiently  nourishing  food,  and  under  the  shattering  of  his 
long  deferred  hope  his  health  had  given  away.  They  had 
no  regular  servant — only  occasional  help  from  an  old  woman, 
who  lit  the  fires  and  put  on  the  kettles.  Annette  was  forced 
to  be  the  sick-nurse,  and  this  sudden  demand  on  her  shook 
away  some  of  her  torpor.  The  illness  was  a serious  one, 
and  the  medical  man  one  day  hearing  Mr.  Lyon  in  his  delir- 
ium raving  with  an  astonishing  fluency  in  Biblical  language, 
suddenly  looked  round  with  increased  curiosity  at  Annette, and 
asked  if  she  were  the  sick  man’s  wife,  or  some  other  relative. 

“ No — no  relation,”  said  Annette,  shaking  her  head. 
“ He  has  been  good  to  me.” 

“ How  long  have  you  lived  with  him  ? ** 

“ More  than  a year.” 

“Was  he  a preacher  once  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ When  did  he  leave  off  being  a preacher  ? ” 

“ Soon  after  he  took  care  of  me.” 

“ Is  that  his  child  ? ” 

“ Sir,”  said  Annette,  coloring  indignantly,  “ I am  a widow.” 
The  doctor,  she  thought,  looked  at  her  oddly,  but  he 
asked  no  more  questions. 

When  the  sick  man  was  getting  better,  and  able  to  enjoy 
invalid’s  food,  he  observed  one  day,  while  he  was  taking 
some  broth,  that  Annette  was  looking  at  him  ; he  paused  to 
look  at  her  in  return,  and  was  struck  with  a new  expression 
in  her  face,  quite  distinct  from  the  merely  passive  sweetness 
which  usually  characterized  it.  She  laid  her  little  hand  on 
his,  which  was  now  transparently  thin,  and  said,  “ I am  get- 
ting'very  wise  ; I have  sold  some  of  the  books  to  make  money 
— the  doctor  told  me  where  ; and  I have  looked  into  the 
shops  where  they  sell  caps  and  bonnets  and  pretty  things, 
and  I can  do  all  that,  and  get  more  money  to  keep  us.  And 


82 


FELIX  HOLT, 


when  you  are  well  enough  to  get  up,  we  will  go  out  and  be 
married — shall  we  not  ? See  ! and  la  petite  ” (the  baby  had 
never  been  named  anything  else)  “ shall  call  you  Papa — and 
then  we  shall  never  part.” 

Mr.Lyon  trembled.  This  illness — something  else, perhaps 
— had  made  a great  change  in  Annette.  A fortnight  after  that 
they  were  married.  The  day  before  he  had  ventured  to  ask 
her  if  she  felt  any  difficulty  about  her  religion, and  if  she  would 
consent  to  have  la petite  baptized  and  brought  up  as  a Protest- 
ant. She  shook  her  head  and  said  very  simply — 

“No  : in  France,  in  other  days,  I would  have  minded  ; 
but  all  is  changed.  I never  was  fond  of  religion,  but  I knew 
it  was  right.  J'aimais  les  fleurs , les  bals , la  musique,  et  mon 
mari  qui  etait  beau.  But  all  that  is  gone  away.  There  is 
nothing  of  my  religion  in  this  country.  But  the  good  God 
must  be  here,  for  you  are  good  ; I leave  all  to  you.” 

It  was  clear  that  Annette  regarded  her  present  life  as  a 
sort  of  death  to  the  world — an  existence  on  a remote  island 
where  she  had  been  saved  from  wreck.  She  was  too  indolent 
mentally,  too  little  interested,  to  acquaint  herself  with  any 
secrets  of  the  isle.  The  transient  energy,  the  more  vivid 
consciousness  and  sympathy  which  had  been  stirred  in  her 
during  Mr.  Lyon’s  illness,  had  soon  subsided  into  the  old 
apathy  to  everything  except  her  child.  She  withered  like  a 
plant  in  strange  air,  and  the  three  years  of  life  that  remained 
were  but  a slow  and  gentle  death.  Those  three  years  were 
to  Mr.  Lyon  a period  of  such  self-suppression  and  life  in 
another  as  few  men  know.  Strange  ! that  the  passion  for 
this  woman,  which  he  felt  to  have  drawn  him  aside  from  the 
right  as  much  as  if  he  had  broken  the  most  solemn  vows — 
for  that  only  was  right  to  him  which  he  held  the  best  and 
highest — the  passion  for  a being  who  had  no  glimpse  of  his 
thoughts  induced  a more  thorough  renunciation  than  he  had 
ever  known  in  the  time  of  his  complete  devotion  to  his 
ministerial  career.  He  had  no  flattery  now,  either  from 
himself  or  the  world  ; he  knew  that  he  had  fallen,  and  his 
world  had  forgotten  him,  or  shook  their  heads  at  his  memory. 
The  only  satisfaction  he  had  was  the  satisfaction  of  his  ten- 
derness— which  meant  untiring  work,  untiring  patience, 
untiring  wakefulness  even  to  the  dumb  signs  of  feeling  in  a 
creature  whom  he  alone  cared  for. 

The  day  of  parting  came,  and  he  was  left  with  little  Esther 
as  the  one  visible  sign  of  that  four  years’  break  in  his  life.  A 
year  afterward  he  entered  the  ministry  again,  and  lived  with 


THE  RADICAL. 


83 


the  utmost  sparingness  that  Esther  might  be  so  educated  as 
to  be  able  to  get  her  own  bread  in  case  of  his  death.  Her  prob- 
able facility  in  acquiring  French  naturally  suggested  his  send- 
ing her  to  a French  school,  which  would  give  her  a special  ad- 
vantage as  a teacher.  It  was  a Protestant  school,  and  French 
Protestantism  had  the  high  recommendation  of  being  non- 
Prelatical.  It  was  understood  that  Esther  would  contract  no 
Papistical  superstitions  ; and  this  was  perfectly  true;  but  she 
contracted,  as  we  see,  a good  deal  of  non-Papistical  vanity. 

Mr.  Lyon’s  reputation  as  a. preacher  and  devoted  pastor 
had  revived  but  some  dissatisfaction  beginning  to  be  felt 
by  his  congregation  at  a certain  laxity  detected  by  them  in 
his  views  as  to  the  limits  of  salvation,  which  he  had  in  one 
sermon  even  hinted  might  extend  to  unconscious  recipients 
of  mercy,  he  had  found  it  desirable  seven  years  ago  to  quit, 
this  ten  years’  pastorate  and  accept  a call  from  the  less 
important  church  in  Malthouse  Yard,  Treby  Magna. 

This  was  Rufus  Lyon’s  history,  at  that  time  unknown  in 
its  fullness  to  any  human  being  besides  himself.  We  can 
perhaps  guess  what  memories  they  were  that  relaxed  the 
stringency  of  his  doctrine  on  the  point  of  salvation.  In  the 
deepest  of  all  senses  his  heart  said — 

“ Though  she  be  dead,  yet  let  me  think  she  lives, 

And  feed  my  mind,  that  dies  for  want  of  her,” 

CHAPTER  VII. 

M.  It  was  but  yesterday  you  spoke  him  well — 

You’ve  changed  your  mind  so  soon  ? 

N.  Not  I — ’tis  he 

That,  changing  to  my  thought,  has  changed  my  mind. 

No  man  puts  rotten  apples  in  his  pouch 
Because  their  upper  side  looked  fair  to  him. 

Constancy  in  mistake  is  constant  folly. 

The  news  that  the  rich  heir  of  the  Transomes  was  actually 
come  back,  and  had  been  seen  at  Treby,  was  carried  to  some 
one  else  who  had  more  reasons  for  being  interested  in  it 
than  the  Reverend  Rufus  Lyon  was  yet  conscious  of  having. 
It  was  owing  to  this  that  at  three  o’clock,  two  days  after- 
ward, a carriage  and  pair,  with  coachman  and  footman  in 
crimson  and  drab,  passed  through  the  lodge  gates  at  Tran- 
some  Court.  Inside  there  was  a hale,  good-natured-looking 
man  of  sixty,  whose  hands  rested  on  a knotted  stick  held 
between  his  knees  ; and  a blue-eyed,  well-featured  lady,  fat 
and  middle-aged — a mountain  of  satin,  lace,  and  exquisite 
muslin  embroidery.  They  were  not  persons  of  a highly  re- 
markable appearance,  but  to  most  T rebians  they  seemed  abso- 
lutely unique,  and  likely  to  be  known  anywhere.  If  you  had 


84 


FELIX  HOLT, 


looked  down  upon  them  from  the  box  of  Sampson’s  coach,  he 
would  have  said,  after  lifting  his  hat,  “ Sir  Maximus  and  his 
lady — did  you  see  ? ” thinking  it  needless  to  add  the  surname. 

“ We  shall  find  her  greatly  elated,  doubtless,”  Lady  De- 
barry  was  saying.  “ She  has  been  in  the  shade  so  long.” 

“ Ah,  poor  thing ! ” said  Sir  Maximus.  “ A fine  woman 
she  was  in  her  bloom.  I remember  the  first  county  ball  she 
attended  we  were  all  ready  to  fight  for  the  sake  of  dancing 
with  her.  I always  liked  her  from  that  time — I never 
swallowed  the  scandal  about  her  myself.” 

“ If  we  are  to  be  intimate  with  her,”  said  Lady  Debarry, 
“ I wish  you  would  avoid  making  such  allusions,  Sir  Maxi- 
mus. I should  not  like  Selina  and  Harriet  to  hear  them.” 

” My  dear,  I should  have  forgotten  all  about  the  scandal, 
only  yon  remind  me  of  it  sometimes,”  retorted  the  baronet, 
smiling  and  taking  out  his  snuff-box. 

“ These  sudden  turns  of  fortune  are  often  dangerous  to  an 
excitable  constitution,”  said  Lady  Debarry,  not  choosing  to 
notice  her  husband’s  epigram.  “ Poor  Lady  Alicia  Methurst 
got  heart-disease  from  a sudden  piece  of  luck — the  death  of 
her  uncle,  you  know.  If  Mrs.  Transome  was  wise  she  would 
go  to  town — she  can  afford  it  now,  and  consult  Dr.  Trun- 
cheon. I should  say  myself  he  would  order  her  digitalis : I 
have  often  guessed  exactly  what  a prescription  would  be. 
But  it  certainly  was  one  of  her  weak  points  to  think  she  un- 
derstood medicine  better  than  other  people.” 

“ She’s  a healthy  woman  enough,  surely  : see  how  upright 
she  is,  and  she  rides  about  like  a girl  of  twenty.” 

“ She  is  so  thin  that  she  makes  me  shudder.” 

“ Pooh  ! she’s  slim  and  active  ; women  are  not  bid  for  by 
the  pound.” 

“ Pray  don’t  be  so  coarse.” 

Sir  Maximus  laughed  and  showed  his  good  teeth,  which 
made  his  laughter  very  becoming.  The  carriage  stopped, 
and  they  were  soon  ushered  to  Mrs.  Transome’s  sitting-room, 
where  she  was  working  at  her  worsted  embroidery.  A little 
daily  embroidery  had  been  a constant  element  in  Mrs.  Tran- 
some’s life ; but  that  soothing  occupation  of  taking  stitches 
to  produce  what  neither  she  nor  any  one'else  wanted,  was  then 
the  resource  of  many  a well-born  and  unhappy  woman. 

She  received  much  warm  congratulation  and  pressure  of 
her  hand  with  perfect  composure  of  manner  ; but  she  became 
paler  than  usual,  and  her  hands  turned  quite  cold.  The 
Debarrys  did  not  yet  know  what  Harold’s  politics  were. 


THE  RADICAL. 


85 

“Well,  our  lucky  youngster  is  come  in  the  nick  of  time,” 
said  Sir  Maximus : “ if  he'll  stand,  he  and  Philip  can  run  in 
harness  together  and  keep  out  both  the  Whigs.” 

“ It  is  really  quite  a providential  thing — his  returning  just 
now,”  said  Lady  Debarry.  “ I couldn’t  help  thinking  that 
something  would  occur  to  prevent  Philip  from  having  such 
a man  as  Peter  Garstin  for  his  colleague.” 

“ I call  my  friend  Harold  a youngster,”  said  Sir  Maximus, 
“ for,  you  know,  I remember  him  only  as  he  was  when  that 
portrait  was  taken.” 

“ That  is  a long  while  ago,”  said  Mrs.  Transome.  “My 
son  is  much  altered,  as  you  may  imagine.” 

There  was  a confused  sound  of  voices  in  the  library  while 
this  talk  was  going  on.  Mrs.  Transome  chose  to  ignore  that 
noise,  but  her  face,  from  being  pale,  began  to  flush  a little. 

“ Yes,  yes,  on  the  outside,  I dare  say.  But  he  was  a fine 
fellow — I always  liked  him.  And  if  anybody  should  ask  me 
what  I should  choose  for  the  good  of  the  country,  I couldn’t 
have  thought  of  anything  better  than  having  a young  Tran- 
some for  a neighbor  who  will  take  an  active  part.  The 
Transomes  and  the  Debarrys  were  always  on  the  right  side 
together  in  old  days.  Of  course  he’ll  stand — he  has  made 
up  his  mind  to  it  ? ” 

The  need  for  an  answer  to  this  embarrassing  question  was 
deferred  by  the  increase  of  inarticulate  sounds  accompanied 
by  a bark  from  the  library,  and  the  sudden  appearance  at 
the  tapestry-hung  doorway  of  old  Mr.  Transome  with  a cord 
around  his  waist,  playing  a very  poor-paced  horse  for  a black- 
maned little  boy  about  three  years  old,  who  was  urging  him  on 
with  loud  encouraging  noises  and  occasional  thumps  from  a 
stick  which  he  wielded  with  difficulty.iThe  old  man  pausedwith 
a vague  smile  at  the  doorway  while  the  baronet  got  up  to  speak 
to  him.  Nimrod  snuffed  at  his  master’s  legs  to  ascertain  that 
he  was  not  hurt,  and  the  little  boy,  finding  something  new  to 
be  looked  at,  let  go  the  cord  and  came  round  in  front  of  the 
company, dragging  his  stick, and  standing  at  a safe  war-dancing 
distance  as  he  fixed  his  great  black  eyes  on  Lady  Debarry. 

“Dear  me,  what  a splendid  little  boy,  Mrs.  Transome  ! 
why — it  cannot  be — can  it  be — that  you  have  the  happiness 
to  be  a grandmamma?” 

“Yes;  that  is  my  son’s  little  boy.” 

“ Indeed  ! ” said  Lady  Debarry,  really  amazed.  “ I never 
heard  you  speak  of  his  marriage.  He  has  brought  you 
home  a daughter-in-law,  then  ? ” 


86 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ No,’"  said  Mrs.  Transome,  coldly  ; “ she  is  dead/' 

“ O — o — oh  ! ” said  Lady  Debarry,  in  a tone  ludicrously 
undecided  between  condolence,  satisfaction,  and  general 
mistiness.  “ How  very  singular — I mean  that  we  should  not 
have  heard  of  Mr.  Harold’s  marriage.  But  he’s  a charming 
little  fellow  : come  to  me,  you  round-cheeked  cherub.” 

The  black  eyes  continued  fixed  as  if  by  a sort  of  fascina- 
tion on  Lady  Debarry’s  face,  and  her  affable  invitation  was 
unheeded.  At  last,  putting  his  head  forward  and  pouting 
his  lips,  the  cherub  gave  forth  with  marked  intention  the 
sounds,  “ Nau-o-oom,”  many  times  repeated : apparently 
they  summed  up  his  opinion  of  Lady  Debarry,  and  may  per- 
haps have  meant  “ naughty  old  woman,”  but  his  speech  was 
a broken  lisping  polyglot  of  hazardous  interpretation.  Then 
he  turned  to  pull  at  the  Blenheim  spaniel,  which,  being  old 
and  peevish,  gave  a little  snap.  ' 

“ Go,  go,  Harry  ; let  poor  Puff  alone — he’ll  bite  you,”  said 
Mrs.  Transome,  stooping  to  release  her  aged  pet. 

Her  words  were  too  suggestive,  for  Harry  immediately 
laid  hold  of  her  arm  with  his  teeth,  and  bit  with  all  his  might. 
Happily  the  stuffs  upon  it  were  some  protection,  but  the 
pain  forced  Mrs.  Transome  to  give  a low  cry;  and  Sir 
Maximus,  who  had  now  turned  to  reseat  himself,  shook  the 
little  rascal  off,  whereupon  he  burst  away  and  trotted  into 
the  library  again. 

“I  fear  you  are  hurt,”  said  Lady  Debarry,  with  sincere 
concern.  “ What  alittle  savage  ! Do  have  your  arm  attended 
to,  my  dear — I recommend  fomentation — don’t  think  of  me.” 
“ Oh,  thank  you,  it  is  nothing,”  said  Mrs.  Transome,  biting 
her  lip  and  smiling  alternately  ; “ it  will  soon  go  off.  The 
pleasures  of  being  a grandmamma,  you  perceive.  The  child 
has  taken  a dislike  to  me  ; but  he  makes  quite  a new  life  for 
Mr.  Transome;  they  were  playfellows  at  once.” 

“Bless  my  heart ! ” said  Sir  Maximus,  “ it  is  odd  to  think 
of  Harold  having  been  a family  man  so  long.  I made  up 
my  mind  he  was  a young  bachelor.  What  an  old  stager  I 
am,  to  be  sure  ! And  whom  has  he  married  ? I hope  we 
shall  soon  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Mrs.  Harold  Tran- 
some.” Sir  Maximus,  occupied  with  old  Mr.  Transome,  had 
not  overheard  the  previous  conversation  on  that  subject. 

“ She  is  no  longer  living,”  Lady  Debarry  hastily  interposed  ; 
“but  now,  my  dear  Sir  Maximus,  we  must  not  hinder  Mrs. 
Transome  from  attending  to  her  arm.  I am  sure  she  is  in 
pain.  Don’t  say  another  word,  my  dear — we  shall  see  you 


THE  RADICAL. 


87 

again — you  and  Mr.  Harold  will  come  and  dine  with  us  on 
Thursday — say  yes,  only  yes.  Sir  Maximus  is  longing  to  see 
him : and  Philip  will  be  down.” 

“ Yes,  yes  ! ” said  Sir  Maximus  ; “ he  must  lose  no  time  in 
making  Philip’s  acquaintance.  Tell  him  Philip  is  a fine  fel- 
low— carried  everything  before  him  at  Oxford.  And  your 
son  must  be  returned  along  with  him  for  North  Loamshire. 
You  said  he  meant  to  stand?” 

“ I will  write  and  let  you  know  if  Harold  has  any  engage- 
ment for  Thursday ; he  would  of  course  be  happy  other- 
wise,” said  Mrs.  Transome,  evading  the  question. 

“ If  not  Thursday,  the  next  day — the  very  first  day  he  can.” 
The  visitors  left,  and  Mrs.  Transome  was  almost  glad  of 
the  painful  bite  which  had  saved  her  from  being  questioned 
further  about  Harold’s  politics.  “ This  is  the  last  visit  I 
shall  receive  from  them,”  she  said  to  herself  as  the  door 
closed  behind  them,  and  she  rang  for  Denner. 

“That  poor  creature  is  not  happy,  Sir  Maximus,”  said 
Lady  Debarry  as  they  drove  along.  “ Something  annoys  her 
about  her  son.  I hope  there  is  nothing  unpleasant  in  his 
character.  Either  he  kept  his  marriage  a secret  from  her,  or 
she  was  ashamed  of  it.  He  is  thirty-four  at  least  by  this 
time.  After  living  in  the  East  so  long  he  may  have  become 
a sort  of  person  one  would  not  care  to  be  intimate  with,  and 
that  savage  boy — he  doesn’t  look  like  a lady’s  child.” 

“ Pooh,  my  dear,”  said  Sir  Maximus,  “women  think  so 
much  of  those  minutiae.  In  the  present  state  of  the  country 
it  is  our  duty  to  look  at  a man's  position  and  politics.  Philip 
and  my  brother  are  both  of  that  opinion,  and  I think  they 
know  what’s  right,  if  any  man  does.  We  are  bound  to  regard 
every  man  of  our  party  as  a public  instrument,  and  to  pull 
all  together.  The  Transomes  have  always  been  a good  Tory 
family,  but  it  has  been  a cipher  of  late  years.  This  young 
fellow  coming  back  with  a fortune  to  give  the  family  a head 
and  a position  is  a clear  gain  to  the  county  ; and  with  Philip 
he’ll  get  into  tl\e  right  hands — of  course  he  wants  guiding, 
having  been  out  of  the  country  so  long.  All  we’  have  to  ask 
is,  whether  a man’s  a Tory,  and  will  make  a stand  for  the 
good  of  the  country  ? — that’s  the  plain  English  of  the  mat- 
ter. And  I do  beg  of  you,  my  dear,  to  set  aside  all  these 
gossiping  niceties,  and  exert  yourself,  like  a woman  of  sense 
and  spirit  as  you  are,  to  bring  the  right  people  together.” 
Here  Sir  Maximus  gave  a deep  cough,  took  out  his  snuff- 
box, and  tapped  it  : he  had  made  a serious  marital  speech, 


88 


FELIX  HOLT, 

an  exertion  to  which  he  was  rarely  urged  by  anything  smaller 
than  a matter  of  conscience.  And  this  outline  of  the  whole 
duty  of  a Tory  was  a matter  of  conscience  with  him  ; though 
the  Duffield  Watchman  had  pointed  expressly  to  Sir 
Maximus  Debarry  amongst  others,  in  branding  the  co-opera- 
tion of  the  Tories  as  a conscious  selfishness  and  reckless 
immorality,  which,  however,  would  be  defeated  by  the  co- 
operation of  all  the  friends  of  truth  and  liberty,  who,  the 
Watchman  trusted,  would  subordinate  all  non-political 
differences  in  order  to  return  representatives  pledged  to 
support  the  present  government. 

“I  am  sure,  Sir  Maximus,”  Lady  Debarry  answered,  “you 
could  not  have  observed  that  anything  was  wanting  in  my 
manners  to  Mrs.  Transome.” 

“ No,  no,  my  dear  ; but  I say  this  by  way  of  caution. 
Never  mind  what  was  done  at  Smyrna,  or  whether  Transome 
likes  to  sit  with  his  heels  tucked  up.  We  may  surely  wink 
at  a few  things  for  the  sake  of  the  public  interest,  if  God 
Almighty  does  ; and  if  He  didn’t,  I don’t  know  what  would 
have  become  of  the  country — Government  could  never  have 
been  carried  on,  and  many  a good  battle  would  have  been  lost. 
That’s  the  philosophy  of  the  matter,  and  common-sense  too.” 
Good  Sir  Maximus  gave  a deep  cough  and  tapped  his  box 
again,  inwardly  remarking,  that  if  he  had  not  been  such  a lazy 
fellow  he  might  have  made  as  good  a figure  as  his  son  Philip. 

But  at  this  point  the  carriage,  which  was  rolling  by  a turn 
toward  Treby  Magna,  passed  a well-dressed  man,  who  raised 
his  hat  to  Sir  Maximus,  and  called  to  the  coachman  to  stop. 

“Excuse  me,  Sir  Maximus,”  said  this  personage,  standing 
uncovered  at  the  carriage-door,  “but  I have  just  learned 
something  of  importance  at  Treby,  which  I thought  you 
would  like  to  know  as  soon  as  possible.” 

“ Ah  ! what’s  that  ? Something  about  Garstin  or  Cle- 
ment ? ” said  Sir  Maximus,  seeing  the  other  draw  a poster 
from  his  pocket. 

“ No  ; rather  worse,  I fear  you  will  think.  A new  Radical 
candidate.  I got  this  by  a stratagem  from  the  printer’s  boy. 
They’re  not  posted  yet.” 

“ A Radical ! ” said  Sir  Maximus,  in  a tone  of  incredulous 
disgust,  as  he  took  the  folded  bill.  “What  fool  is  he  ? — he’ll 
have  no  chance.” 

“ They  say  he’s  richer  than  Garstin.” 

“ Harold  Transome  !”  shouted  Sir  Maximus,  as  he  read 
the  name  in  three-inch  letters.  “ I don’t  believe  it — it’s  a 


THE  RADICAL. 


89 

trick — it’s  a squib  : why — why — we’ve  just  been  to  his  place 
— eh  ? do  you  know  any  more  ? Speak,  sir — speak  ; don’t 
deal  out  your  story  like  a damned  mountebank,  who  wants 
to  keep  people  gaping.” 

“ Sir  Maximus,  pray  don’t  give  way  so,”  said  Lady  Debarry. 
“ I’m  afraid  there’s  no  doubt  about  it,  sir,”  said  Christian. 
“ After  getting  the  bill,  I met  Mr.  Labron’s  clerk,  and  he 
said  he  had  just  had  the  whole  story  from  Jermyn’s  clerk. 
The  Ram  Inn  is  engaged  already,  and  a committee  is  being 
made  up.  He  says  Jermyn  goes  like  a steam  engine,  when 
he  has  a mind,  although  he  makes  such  long-winded  speeches.” 
“Jermyn  be  hanged  for  a two-faced  rascal  ! Tell  Mitchell 
to  drive  on.  It’s  of  no  use  to  stay  chattering  here.  Jump 
up  on  the  box  and  go  home  with  us.  I may  want  you.” 

“ You  see  I was  right,  Sir  Maximus,”  said  the  baronet’s 
wife.  “ I had  an  instinct  that  we  should  find  him  an  unpleas- 
ant person.” 

“ Fudge  ! if  you  had  such  a fine  instinct,  why  did  you  let 
us  go  to  Transome  Court  and  make  fools  of  ourselves  ?” 

“ Would  you  have  listened  to  me  ? But  of  course  you  will 
not  have  him  to  dine  with  you  ? ” 

“ Dine  with  me  ? I should  think  not.  I’d  sooner  he  should 
dine  off  me.  I see  how  it  is  clearly  enough.  He  has  become 
a regular  beast  among  those  Mahometans — he’s  got  neither 
religion  nor  morals  left.  He  can’t  know  any  thing  about 
English  politics.  He’ll  go  and  cut  his  own  nose  off  as  a 
landholder,  and  never  know.  However,  he  won’t  get  in — 
he’ll  spend  his  money  for  nothing.” 

“ I fear  he  is  a very  licentious  man,”  said  Lady  Debarry. 
“ We  know  now  why  his  mother  seemed  so  uneasy.  I should 
think  she  reflects  a little,  poor  creature.” 

“It’s  a confounded  nuisance  we  didn’t  meet  Christian  on 
our  way,  instead  of  coming  back  ; but  better  now  than  later. 
He’s  an  uncommonly  adroit,  useful  fellow,  that  factotum  of 
Philip’s.  I wish  Phil  would  take  my  man  and  give  me 
Christian.  I’d  make  him  house-steward  : he  might  reduce 
the  accounts  a little.” 

Perhaps  Sir  Maximus  would  not  have  been  so  sanguine  as 
to  Mr.  Christian’s  economical  virtues  if  he  had  seen  that 
gentleman  relaxing  himself  the  same  evening  among  the  other 
distinguished  dependents  of  the  family  and  frequenters  of 
the  steward’s  room.  But  a man  of  Sir  Maximus’s  rank  is 
like  those  antediluvian  animals  whom  the  system  of  things 
condemned  to  carry  such  a huge  bulk  that  they  really  could 


9° 


FELIX  HOLT, 


not  inspect  their  bodily  appurtenance,  and  had  no  concep- 
tion of  their  own  tails  : their  parasites  doubtless  had  a merry 
time  of  it,  and  often  did  extremely  well  when  the  high-bred 
saurian  himself  was  ill  at  ease.  Treby  Manor,  measured 
from  the  front  saloon  to  the  remotest  shed,  was  as  large  as  a 
moderate-sized  village,  and  there  were  certainly  more  lights 
burning  in  it  every  evening,  more  wine,  spirits,  and  ale 
drunk,  more  waste  and  more  folly,  than  could  be  found  in 
some  large  villages.  There  was  fast  revelry  in  the  steward’s 
room,  and  slow  revelry  in  the  Scotch  bailiffs  room  ; short 
whist,  costume,  and  flirtation  in  the  housekeeper’s  room, 
and  the  same  at  a lower  price  in  the  servants’  hall ; a select 
Olympian  feast  in  the  private  apartment  of  the  cook,  who 
was  a much  grander  person  than  her  ladyship,  and  wore  gold 
and  jewelry  to  a vast  amount  of  suet  ; a gambling  group  in 
the  stables,  and  the  coachman,  perhaps  the  most  innocent 
member  of  the  establishment,  tippling  in  majestic  solitude 
by  a fire  in  the  harness-room.  For  Sir  Maximus,  as  every 
one  said,  was  a gentleman  of  the  right  sort,  condescended 
to  no  mean  enquiries,  greeted  his  head-servants  with  a 
“ good-evening,  gentlemen,”  when  he  met  them  in  the  park, 
and  only  snarled  in  a subdued  way  when  he  looked  over  the 
accounts,  willing  to  endure  some  personal  inconvenience  in 
order  to  keep  up  the  institutions  of  the  country,  to  maintain 
his  hereditary  establishment,  and  do  his  duty  in  that  station 
of  life — the  station  of  the  long-tailed  saurian — to  which  it 
had  pleased  Providence  to  call  him. 

The  focus  of  brilliancy  at  Treby  Manor  that  evening  was 
in  no  way  the  dining-room,  where  Sir  Maximus  sipped  his 
port  under  some  mental  depression,  as  he  discussed  with  his 
brother,  the  Reverend  Augustus,  the  sad  fact  that  one  of 
the  oldest  names  in  the  county  was  to  be  on  the  wrong  side 
— not  in  the  drawing-room,  where  Miss  Debarry  and.  Miss 
Selina,  quietly  elegant  in  their  dress  and  manners,  were  feel- 
ing rather  dull  than  otherwise,  having  finished  Mr.  Bulwer’s 
“ Eugene  Aram,”  and  being  thrown  back  on  the  last  great 
prose  work  of  Mr.  Southey,  while  their  mamma  slumbered 
a little  on  the  sofa.  No  ; the  centre  of  eager  talk  and  en- 
joyment was  the  steward’s  room,  where  Mr.  Scales,  house- 
steward  and  head-butler,  a man  most  solicitous  about  his 
boots,  wristbands,  the  roll  of  his  whiskers,  and  other  attri- 
butes of  a gentleman,  distributed  cigars, cognac, and  whiskey, 
to  various  colleagues  and  guests  who  were  discussing, with  that 
freedom  of  conjecture  which  is  one  of  our  inalienable  privil- 


THE  RADICAL. 


91 


eges  as  Britons,  the  probable  amount  of  Harold  Transome’s 
fortune,  concerning  which  fame  had  already  been  busy  long 
enough  to  have  acquired  vast  magnifying  power. 

The  chief  part  in  this  scene  was  undoubtedly  Mr.  Chris- 
tian’s, although  he  had  hitherto  been  comparatively  silent  ; 
but  he  occupied  two  chairs  with  so  much  grace,  throwing 
his  right  leg  over  the  seat  of  the*  second,  and  resting  his 
right  hand  on  the  back  ; he  held  his  cigar  and  displayed  a 
splendid  seal-ring  with  such  becoming  nonchalance,  and 
had  his  gray  hair  arranged  with  so  much  taste,  that  experi- 
enced eyes  would  at  once  have  seen  even  the  great  Scales 
himself  to  be  but  a secondary  character. 

“ Why,”  said  Mr.  Crowder,  an  old  respectable  tenant, 
though  much  in  arrear  as  to  his  rent,  who  condescended 
frequently  to  drink  in  the  steward’s  room  for  the  sake  of 
the  conversation  ; “ why,  I suppose  they  get  money  so  fast 
in  the  East — it’s  wonderful.  Why,”  he  went  on,  with  a 
hesitating  look  toward  Mr.  Scales,  “ this  Transome  p’r’aps 
got  a matter  of  a hundred  thousand.” 

“A  hundred  thousand,  my  dear  sir  ! fiddle-stick’s  end  of 
a hundred  thousand,”  said  Mr.  Scales,  with  a contempt  very 
painful  to  be  borne  by  a modest  man. 

“Well,”  said  Mr.  Crowder,  giving  way  under  torture, 
as  the  all-knowing  butler  puffed  and  stared  at  him,  “per- 
haps not  so  much  as  that.” 

“ Not  so  much,  sir  ! I tell  you  that  a hundred  thousand 
pounds  is  a bagatelle.” 

“ Well,  I know  it’s  a big  sum,”  said  Mr.  Crowder,  depre- 
catingly. 

Here  there  was  a general  laugh.  All  the  other  intellects 
present  were  more  cultivated  than  Mr.  Crowder’s. 

“ Bagatelle  is  the  French  for  trifle,  my  friend,”  said  Mr. 
Christian.  “ Don’t  talk  over  people’s  heads  so,  Scales.  I 
shall  have  hard  work  to  understand  you  myself  soon;” 

“ Come,  that’s  a good  one,”  said  the  head-gardener,  who 
was  a ready  admirer;  “ I should  like  to  hear  the  thing  you 
don’t  understand,  Christian.” 

“ He’s  a first-rate  hand  at  sneering,”  said  Mr.  Scales,  rather 
nettled. 

“ Don’t  be  waspie,  man.  I’ll  ring  the  bell  for  lemons, 
and  make  some  punch.  That’s  the  thing  for  putting  people 
up  to  the  unknown  tongues,”  said  Mr.  Christian,  starting  up 
and  slapping  Scales’s  shoulder  as  he  passed  him. 

“ What  I mean,  Mr.  Crowder,  is  this.”  Here  Mr.  Scales 


92 


FELIX  HOLT, 


paused  to  puff,  and  pull  down  his  waistcoat  in  a gentlemanly 
manner,  and  drink.  He  was  wont  in  this  way  to  give  his 
hearers  time  for  meditation. 

“Come,  then,  speak  English;  I’m  not  against  being 
taught,”  said  the  reasonable  Crowder. 

“ What  I mean  is,  that  in  a large  way  of  trade  a man  turns  his 
capital  over  almost  as  soon  as  he  can  turn  himself.  Bless  your 
soul  ! I know  something  about  these  matters,  eh,  Brent  ? ” 
“ To  be  sure  you  do — few  men  more,”  said  the  gardener, 
who  was  the  person  appealed  to. 

“ Not  that  I’ve  had  anything  to  do  with  commercial 
families  myself.  I’ve  those  feelings  that  I look  to  other 
things  besides  lucre.  But  I can’t  say  that  I’ve  not  been  inti- 
mate with  parties  who  have  been  less  nice  than  I am  my- 
self; and  knowing  what  I know,  I shouldn’t  wonder  if  Tran- 
some  had  as  much  as  five  hundred  thousand.  Bless  your 
soul,  sir!  people  who  get  their  money  out  of  land  are  as  long 
scraping  five  pounds  together  as  your  trading  men  are  in 
turning  five  pounds  into  a hundred.” 

“ That’s  a wicked  thing,  though,”  said  Mr.  Crowder,  medi- 
tatively. “ However,”  he  went  on,  retreating  from  this 
difficult  ground,  “ trade  or  no  trade,  the  Transomes  have 
been  poor  enough  this  many  a long  year.  I’ve  a brother  a 
tenant  on  their  estate — I ought  to  know  a little  bit  about  that.” 
“ They’ve  kept  up  no  establishment  at  all,”  said  Mr. 
Scales,  with  disgust.  “ They’ve  even  let  their  kitchen  gar- 
dens. I suppose  it  was  the  son’s  gambling.  I’ve  seen  some- 
thing of  that.  A man  who  has  always  lived  in  first-rate 
families  is  likely  to  know  a thing  or  two  on  that  subject.” 

“ Ah,  but  it  wasn’t  gambling  did  the  first  mischief,”  said 
Mr.  Crowder,  with  a slight  smile,  feeling  that  it  was  his  turn 
to  have  some  superiority.  “ New-comers  don’t  know  what 
happened  in  this  country  twenty  and  thirty  years  ago.  I’m 
turned  fifty  myself,  and  my  father  lived  under  Sir  Maxum’s 
father.  But  if  anybody  from  London  can  tell  me  more  than 
I know  about  this  country-side,  I’m  willing  to  listen.” 

“ What  was  it,  then,  if  it  wasn’t  gambling  ?”said  Mr.  Scales, 
with  some  impatience.  “ I don’t  pretend  to  know.” 

“ It  was  law — law — that’s  what  it  was.  Not  but  what  the 
Transomes  always  won.” 

“And  always  lost,”  said  the  too-ready  Scales.  “Yes, 
yes;  I think  we  all  know  the  nature  of  law.” 

“ There  was  the  last  suit  of  all  made  the  most  noise,  as  I 
understood,”  continued  Mr.  Crowder;  “but  it  wasn’t  tried 


THE  RADICAL. 


93 


hereabout.  They  said  there  was  a deal  o’  false  swearing. 
Some  young  man  pretended  to  be  the  true  heir — let  me  see — 
I can’t  justly  remember  the  names — he’d  got  two.  He  swore 
he  was  one  man,  and  they  swore  he  was  another.  However 
Lawyer  Jermyn  won  it — they  say  he’d  win  a game  against  the 
Old  One  himself — and  the  young  fellow  turned  out  to  be  a 
scamp.  Stop  abit — his  name  was  Scaddon — Henry  Scaddon.” 

Mr.  Christian  here  let  a lemon  slip  from  his  hand  into  the 
punch-bowl  with  a splash  which  sent  some  of  the  nectar  into 
the  company’s  faces. 

“ Hallo  ! What  a bungler  I am  !”  he  said,  looking  as  if 
he  were  quite  jarred  by  this  unusual  awkwardness  of  his. 
“ Go  on  with  your  tale,  Mr.  Crowder— a scamp  named 
Henry  Scaddon.” 

“ Well,  that’s  the  tale,”  said  Mr.  Crowder.  “ He  was  never 
seen  nothing  of  any  more.  It  was  a deal  talked  of  at  the 
time — and  I’ve  sat  by;  and  my  father  used  to  shake  his 
head;  and  always  when  this  Mrs.  Transome  was  talked  of, 
he  used  to  shake  his  head,  and  say  she  carried  things  with  a 
high  hand  once.  But,  Lord  ! it  was  before  the  battle  of 
Waterloo,  and  I’m  a poor  hand  at  tales;  I don’t  see  much 
good  in  ’em  myself— but  if  anybody’ll  tell  me  a cure  for  the 
sheep-rot,  I’ll  thank  him.” 

Here  Mr.  Crowder  relapsed  into  smoking  and  silence,  a little 
discomfited  that  the  knowledge  of  which  he  had  been  delivered 
had  turned  out  rather  a shapeless  and  insignificant  birth. 

“ Well,  well,  bygones  should  be  bygones  ; there  are  secrets 
in  most  good  families,”  said  Mr.  Scales,  winking,  “ and  this 
young  Transome,  coming  back  with  a fortune  to  keep  up 
the  establishment,  and  have  things  done  in  a decent  and 
gentlemanly  way — it  would  all  have  been  right  if  he’d  not 
been  this  sort  of  Radical  madman.  But  now  he’s  done  for 
himself.  I heard  Sir  Maximus  say  at  dinner  that  he  would  be 
excommunicated  ; and  that’s  a pretty  strong  word,  I take  it.” 

“What  does  it  mean,  Scales?”  said  Mr.  Christian,  who 
loved  tormenting. 

“ Ay,  what’s  the  meaning  ? ” insisted  Mr.  Crowder, 
encouraged  by  finding  that  even  Christian  was  in  the  dark. 

“Well,  it’s  a law  term — speaking  in  a figurative  sort  of 
way — meaning  that  a Radical  was  no  gentleman.” 

“ Perhaps  it’s  partly  accounted  for  by  his  getting  his 
money  so  fast,  and  in  foreign  countries,”  said  Mr.  Crowder, 
tentatively.  “ It’s  reasonable  to  think  he’d  be  against  the 
land  and  this  country — eh,  Sircome  ? ” 


94 


Felix  holt, 


Sircome  was  an  eminent  miller  who  had  considerable  busi- 
ness transactions  at  the  Manor,  and  appreciated  Mr.  Scales’s 
merits  at  a handsome  percentage  on  the  yearly  account.  He 
was  a highly  honorable  tradesman,  but  in  this  and  in  other 
matters  submitted  to  the  institutions  of  his  country  ; for 
great  houses,  as  he  observed,  must  have  great  butlers.  He 
replied  to  his  friend  Crowder  sententiously. 

“ I say  nothing.  Before  I bring  words  to  market,  I should 
like  to  see  ’em  a bit  scarcer.  There’s  the  land  and  there’s 
trade — I hold  with  both.  I swim  with  the  stream.” 

“ Hey-day,  Mr.  Sircome  ! that’s  a Radical  maxim,”  said 
Mr.  Christian,  who  knew  that  Mr.  Sircome’s  last  sentence 
was  his  favorite  formula.  “ I advise  you  to  give  it  up,  else 
it  will  injure  the  quality  of  your  flour.” 

“ A Radical  maxim  ! ” said  Mr.  Sircome,  in  a tone  of 
angry  astonishment.  “ I should  like  to  hear  you  prove  that. 
It’s  as  old  as  my  grandfather,  anyhow.” 

“I’ll  prove  it  tn  one  minute,”  said  the  glib  Christian. 
“ Reform  has  set  in  by  the  will  of  the  majority — that’s  the 
rabble,  you  know  ; and  the  respectability  and  good  sense  of 
the  country,  which  are  in  the  minority,  are  afraid  of  Reform 
running  on  too  fast.  So  the  stream  must  be  running  toward 
Reform  and  Radicalism  ; and  if  you  swim  with  it,  Mr.  Sir- 
come, you’re  a Reformer  and  a Radical,  and  your  flour  is 
objectionable,  and  not  full  weight — and  being  tried  by  Scales, 
will  be  found  wanting.” 

There  was  a roar  of  laughter.  Thi^  pun  upon  Scales  was 
highly  appreciated  by  every  one  except  the  miller  and  butler. 
The  latter  pulled  down  his  waistcoat,  and  puffed  and  stared 
in  rather  an  excited  manner.  Mr.  Christian’s  wit,  in  general, 
seemed  to  him  a poor  kind  of  quibbling. 

“ What  a fellow  you  are  for  fence,  Christian,”  said  the  gar- 
dener. “Hang  me,  if  I don’t  think  you’re  up  to  everything.” 

“ That’s  a compliment  you  might  pay  Old  Nick,  if  you 
come  to  that,’*  said  Mr.  Sircome,  who  was  in  the  painful 
position  of  a man  deprived  of  his  formula. 

“Yes,  yes,”  said  Mr.  Scales;  “I’m  no  fool  myself,  and 
could  parry  a thrust  if  I liked,  but  I shouldn't  like  it  to  be 
said  of  me  that  I was  up  to  everything.  I’ll  keep  a little 
principle  if  you  please.” 

“ To  be  sure,”  said  Christian,  ladling  out  the  punch. 
“What  would  justice  be  without  Scales?” 

The  laughter  was  not  quite  so  full-throated  as  before.  Such 
excessive  cleverness  was  a little  Satanic. 


THE  RADICAL. 


9S 


“ A joke’s  a joke  among  gentlemen,”  said  the  butler,  get- 
ting exasperated  ; “ I think  there  has  been  quite  liberties 
enough  taken  with  my  name.  But  if  you  must  talk  about 
names,  I’ve  heard  of  a party  before  now  calling  himself 
a Christian,  and  being  anything  but  it.” 

“ Come,  that’s  beyond  a joke,”  said  the  surgeon’s  assistant, 
a fast  man,  whose  chief  scene  of  dissipation  was  the  manor. 
“ Let  it  drop,  Scales.” 

“ Yes,  I dare  say  it’s  beyond  a joke.  I’m  not  a harlequin 
to  talk  nothing  but  jokes.  I leave  that  to  other  Christians, 
who  are  up  to  everything,  and  have  been  everywhere — to  the 
hulks,  for  what  I know  ; and  more  than  that,  they  come 
from  nobody  knows  where,  and  try  to  worm  themselves  into 
gentlemen’s  confidence,  to  the  prejudice  of  their  betters.” 
There  was  a stricter  sequence  in  Mr.  Scales’s  angry  elo- 
quence than  was  apparent — some  chief  links  being  confined 
to  his  own  breast,  as  is  often  the  case  in  energetic  discourse. 
The  company  were  in  a -state  of  expectation.  There  was  some- 
thing behind  worth  knowing, and  something  before  them  worth 
seeing.  In  the  general  decay  of  other  fine  British  pugnacious 
sports,  a quarrel  between  gentlemen  was  all  the  more  exciting, 
and  though  no  one  would  himself  have  liked  to  turn  on  Scales, 
no  one  was  sorry  for  the  chance  of  seeing  him  put  down.  But 
the  amazing  Christian  was  unmoved.  He  had  taken  out  his 
handkerchief  and  was  rubbing  his  lips  carefully.  After  a 
slight  pause,  he  spoke  with  perfect  coolness. 

“ I don’t  intend  to  quarrel  with  you,  Scales.  Such  talk  as 
this  is  not  profitable  to  either  of  us.  It  makes  you  purple  in 
the  face — you  are  apoplectic,  you  know — and  it  spoils  good 
company.  Better  tell  a few  fibs  about  me  behind  my  back — 
it  will  heat  you  less,  and  do  me  more  harm.  I’ll  leave  you 
to  it  ; I shall  go  and  have  a game  of  whist  with  the  ladies.” 
As  the  door  closed  behind  the  questionable  Christian, 
Mr.  Scales  was  in  a state  of  frustration  that  prevented 
speech.  Every  one  was  rather  embarrassed. 

“ That’s  an  uncommon  sort  o’  fellow,”  said  Mr.  Crowder, 
in  an  undertone,  to  his  next  neighbor,  the  gardener.  “ Why, 
Mr.  Philip  picked  him  up  in  foreign  parts,  didn’t  he  ? ” 

“ He  was  a courier,”  said  the  gardener.  “ He’s  had  a deal 
of  experience.  And  I believe,  by  what  I can  make  out — • 
for  he’s  been  pretty  free  with  me  sometimes — there  was  a 
time  when  he  was  in  that  rank  of  life  that  he  fought  a duel.” 
“ Ah  ! that  makes  him  such  a cool  chap,”  said  Mr.  Crowder. 
“ He’s  what  I call  an  overbearing  fellow,”  said  Mr.  Sir- 


96 


FELIX  HOLT, 


come,  also  sotto  voce>  to  his  next  neighbor,  Mr.  Filmore,  the 
surgeon’s  assistant.  “ He  runs  you  down  with  a sort  of  talk 
that’s  neither  here  nor  there.  He’s  got  a deal  too  many 
samples  in  his  pocket  for  me.” 

“ All  I know  is,  he’s  a wonderful  hand  at  cards,”  said 
Mr.  Filmore,  whose  whiskers  and  shirt-pin  were  quite  above 
the  average.  “ I wish  I could  play  ecartd  as  he  does  ; it’s 
beautiful  to  see  him  ; he  can  make  a man  look  pretty  blue  ; 
he’ll  empty  his  pocket  for  him  in  no  time.” 

“ That’s  none  to  his  credit,”  said  Mr.  Sircome. 

The  conversation  had  in  this  way  broken  up  into  tete-a-tete , 
and  the  hilarity  of  the  evening  might  be  considered  a fail- 
ure. Still  the  punch  was  drunk,  the  accounts  were  duly 
swelled,  and,  notwithstanding  the  innovating  spirit  of  the 
time,  Sir  Maximus  Debarry’s  establishment  was  kept  up  in 
sound  hereditary  British  manner. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

“ Rumor  doth  double  like  the  voice  and  echo.” 

—Shakespeare. 

The  mind  of  a man  is  as  a country  which  was  once  open  to  squatters,  who  have  bred 
and  multiplied  and  become  masters  of  the  land.  But  then  happeneth  a time  when 
new  and  hungry  comers  dispute  the  land  ; and  there  is  trial  of  strength,  and  the 
stronger  wins.  Nevertheless  the  first  squatters  be  they  who  have  prepaied  the 
ground,  and  the  crops  to  the  end  will  be  sequent  (though  chiefly  on  the  nature  of  the 
soil,  as  of  light  sand,  mixed  loam,  or  heavy  clay,  yet)  somewhat  on  the  primal  labor 
and  sowing. 

That  talkative  maiden,  Rumor,  though  in  the  interest  of 
art  she  is  figured  as  a youthful,  winged  beauty  with  flowing 
garments,  soaring  above  the  heads  of  men,  and  breathing 
world-thrilling  news  through  a gracefully-curved  trumpet, 
is  in  fact  a very  old  maid,  who  puckers  her  silly  face  by  the 
fireside,  and  really  does  no  more  than  chirp  a wrong  guess 
or  a lame  story  into  the  ear  of  a fellow-gossip  ; all  the  rest 
of  the  work  attributed  to  her  is  done  by  the  ordinary  work- 
ing of  those  passions  against  which  men  pray  in  the  Litany, 
with  the  help  of  a plentiful  stupidity  against  which  we  have 
never  yet  had  any  authorized  form  of  prayer. 

When  Mr.  Scales’s  strong  need  to  make  an  impressive  fig- 
ure in  conversation,  together  with  his  very  slight  need  of 
any  other  premise  than  his  own  sense  of  his  wide  general 
knowledge  and  probable  infallibility,  led  him  to  specify  five 
hundred  thousand  as  the  lowest  admissible  amount  of  Har- 
old Transome’s  commercially-acquired  fortune,  it  was  not 
fair  to  put  this  down  to  poor  old  Miss  Rumor,  who  had  only 
told  Scales  that  the  fortune  was  considerable.  And  again, 
when  the  curt  Mr.  Sircome  found  occasion  at  Treby  to  men- 


THE  RADICAL. 


97 


tion  the  five  hundred  thousand  as  a fact  that  folks  seemed 
pretty  sure  about,  this  expansion  of  the  butler  into  “folks” 
was  entirely  due  to  Mr.  Sircome's  habitual  preference  for 
words  which  could  not  be  laid  hold  of  or  give  people  a 
handle  over  him.  It  was  in  this  simple  way  that  the  report 
of  Harold  Transome’s  fortune  spread  and  was  magnified, 
adding  much  lustre  to  his  opinion  in  the  eyes  of  Liberals, 
and  compelling  even  men  of  the  opposite  party  to  admit  that 
it  increased  his  eligibility  as  a member  for  North  Loamshire. 
It  was  observed  by  a sound  thinker  in  these  parts  that  prop- 
erty was  ballast  ; and  when  once  the  aptness  of  that  meta- 
phor had  been  perceived,  it  followed  that  a man  was  not  fit 
to  navigate  the  sea  of  politics  without  a great  deal  of  such 
ballast  ; and  that,  rightly  understood,  whatever  increased  the 
expense  of  election,  inasmuch  as  it  virtually  raised  the  property 
qualification,  was  an  unspeakable  boon  to  the  country. 

Meanwhile  the  fortune  that  was  getting  larger  in  the  imag- 
ination of  constituents  was  shrinking  a little  in  the  imagina- 
tion of  its  owner.  It  was  hardly  more  than  a hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  ; and  there  were  not  only  the  heavy  mortgages 
to  be  paid  off,  but  also  a large  amount  of  capital  was  needed 
in  order  to  repair  the  farm-buildings  all  over  the  estate,  to 
carry  out  extensive  drainage,  and  make  allowances  to  in- 
coming tenants,  which  might  remove  the  difficulties  of  newly 
letting  the  farms  in  a time  of  agricultural  depression.  The 
farms  actually  tenanted  were  held  by  men  who  had  begged 
hard  to  succeed  their  fathers  in  getting  a little  poorer  every 
year,  on  land  which  was  also  getting  poorer,  where  the  high- 
est rate  of  increase  was  in  the  arrears  of  rent,  and  where  the 
master,  in  crushed  hat  and  corduroys,  looked  pitiably  lean 
and  care-worn  by  the  side  of  pauper  laborers,  who  showed 
that  superior  assimilating  power  often  observed  to  attend 
nourishment  by  the  public  money.  Mr.  Goffe,  of  Rabbit's 
End,  had  never  had  it  explained  to  him  that,  according  to 
the  true  theory  of  rent,  land  must  inevitably  be  given  up 
when  it  would  not  yield  a profit  equal  to  the  ordinary  rate 
of  interest ; so  that  from  want  of  knowing  what  was  inevita- 
ble, and  not  from  a Titanic  spirit  of  opposition,  he  kept  on 
his  land.  He  often  said  to  himself,  with  a melancholy  wipe 
of  his  sleeve  across  his  brow,  that  he  “ didn't  know  which-a- 
way  to  turn";  and  he  would  have  been  still  more  at  a loss 
on  the  subject  if  he  had  quitted  Rabbit's  End  with  a wagon- 
ful of  furniture  and  utensils,  a file  of  receipts,  a wife  with 
five  children,  and  a shepherd  dog  in  low  spirits. 


98 


FELIX  HOLT, 


It  took  no  long  time  for  Harold  Transome  to  discover 
this  state  of  things,  and  to  see,  moreover,  that,  except  on 
the  demesne  immediately  around  the  house,  the  timber  had 
been  mismanaged.  The  woods  had  been  recklessly  thinned, 
and  there  had  been  insufficient  planting.  He  had  not  yet 
thoroughly  investigated  the  various  accounts  kept  by  his 
mother,  by  Jermyn,  and  by  Banks  the  bailiff ; but  what  had 
been  done  with  the  large  sums  which  had  been  received  for 
timber  was  a suspicious  mystery  to  him.  He  observed  that 
the  farm  held  by  Jermyn  was  in  first-rate  order,  that  a good 
deal  had  been  spent  on  the  buildings,  and  that  the  rent  had 
stood  unpaid.  Mrs.  Transome  had  taken  an  opportunity  of 
saying  that  Jermyn  had  had  some  of  the  mortgage  deeds 
transferred  to  him,  and  that  his  rent  was  set  against  so  much 
interest.  Harold  had  only  said,  in  his  careless  yet  decisive 
way,  “Oh,  Jermyn  be  hanged!  It  seems  to  me  if  Durfey 
hadn’t  died  and  made  room  for  me,  Jermyn  would  have 
ended  by  coming  to  live  here,  and  you  would  have  had  to 
keep  the  lodge  and  open  the  gate  for  his  carriage.  But  I 
shall  pay  him  off — mortgages  and  all — by-and-by.  I’ll  owe 
him  nothing — not  even  a curse!  ” Mrs.  Transome  said  no 
more.  Harold  did  not  care  to  enter  fully  into  the  subject  with 
his  mother.  The  fact  that  she  had  been  active  in  the  manage- 
ment of  the  estate — had  ridden  about  it  continually,  had  busied 
herself  with  accounts, had  been  head-bailiff  of  the  vacant  farms, 
and  had  yet  allowed  things  to  go  wrong — was  set  down  by 
him  simply  to  the  general  futility  of  women’s  attempts  to 
transact  men’s  business.  He  did  not  want  to  say  anything  to 
annoy  her  : he  was  only  determined  to  let  her  understand,  as 
quietly  as  possible,  that  she  had  better  cease  all  interference. 

Mrs.  Transome  did  understand  this  ; and  it  was  very  little 
that  she  dared  to  say  on  business,  though  there  was  a fierce 
struggle  of  her  anger  and  pride  with  a dread  which  was 
nevertheless  supreme.  As  to  the  old  tenants,  she  only 
observed,  on  hearing  Harold  burst  forth  about  their 
wretched  condition,  “that  with  the  estate  so  burdened,  the 
yearly  loss  by  arrears  could  better  be  borne  than  the  outlay 
and  sacrifice  necessary  in  order  to  let  the  farms  anew.” 

“I  was  really  capable  of  calculating,  Harold,”  she  ended, 
with  a touch  of  bitterness.  “It  seems  easy  to  deal  with  farm- 
ers and  their  affairs  when  you  only  see  them  in  print,  I dare 
say ; but  it’s  not  quite  so  easy  when  you  live  among  them. 
You  have  only  to  look  at  Sir  Maximus’s  estate  : you  will  see 
plenty  of  the  same  thing.  The  times  have  been  dreadful^ 


THE  RADICAL.  99 

and  old  families  like  to  keep  their  old  tenants.  But  I dare 
say  that  is  Toryism.” 

“ It’s  a hash  of  odds  and  ends,  if  that  is  Toryism,  my 
dear  mother.  However,  I wish  you  had  kept  three  more  old 
tenants  ; for  then  I should  have  had  three  more  fifty-pound 
voters.  And,  in  a hard  run,  one  may  be  beaten  by  a head. 
But,”  Harold  added, smiling  and  handing  her  a ball  of  worsted 
which  had  fallen,  “a  woman  ought  to  be  a Tory,  and  graceful, 
and  handsome,  like  you.  I should  hate  a woman  who  took  up 
my  opinions  and  talked  for  me.  I’m  an  Oriental,  you  know. 
I say,  mother,  shall  we  have  this  room  furnished  with  rose- 
color  ? I notice  that  it  suits  your  bright  gray  hair.” 

Harold  thought  it  was  only  natural  that  his  mother  should 
have  been  in  a sort  of  subjection  to  Jermyn  throughout  the 
awkward  circumstances  of  the  family.  It  was  the  way  of 
women,  and  all  weak  minds,  to  think  that  what  they  had  been 
used  to  was  unalterable,  and  any  quarrel  with  a man  who 
managed  private  affairs  was  necessarily  a formidable  thing. 
He  himself  was  proceeding  very  cautiously,  and  preferred 
not  even  to  know  too  much  just  at  present,  lest  a certain 
personal  antipathy  he  was  conscious  of  toward  Jermyn,  and 
an  occasional  liability  to  exasperation, should  get  the  better  of 
a calm  and  clear-sighted  resolve  not  to  quarrel  with  the  man 
while  he  could  be  of  use.  Harold  would  have  been  disgusted 
with  himself  if  he  had  helped  to  frustrate  his  own  purpose. 
And  his  strongest  purpose  now  was  to  get  returned  for  Parlia- 
ment, to  make  a figure  there  as  a Liberal  member,  and  to  be- 
come on  all  grounds  a personage  of  weight  inNorthLoamshire. 

How  Howard  Transome  came  to  be  a Liberal  in  opposi- 
tion to  all  the  traditions  of  his  family,  was  a more  subtle  en- 
quiry than  he  had  ever  cared  to  follow  out.  The  newspapers 
undertook  to  explain  it.  The  North  Loamshire  Herald 
witnessed  with  a grief  and  disgust  certain  to  be  shared  by  all 
persons  who  were  actuated  by  wholesome  British  feeling,  an 
example  of  defection  in  the  inheritor  of  a family  name  which 
in  times  past  had  been  associated  with  attachment  to  right 
principle,  and  with  the  maintenance  of  our  constitution  in 
Church  and  State  ; and  pointed  to  it  as  an  additional  proof 
that  men  who  had  passed  any  large  portion  of  their  lives  be- 
yond the  limits  of  our  favored  country,  usually  contracted 
not  only  a laxity  of  feeling  toward  Protestantism,  nay,  toward 
religion  itself — a latitudinarian  spirit  hardly  distinguishable 
from  atheism — but  also  a levity  of  disposition,  inducing  them 
to  tamper  with  those  institutions  by  which  alone  Great 


100 


FELIX  HOLT, 


Britain  had  risen  to  her  pre-eminence  among  the  nations. 
Such  men,  infected  with  outlandish  habits,  intoxicated  with 
vanity,  grasping  at  momentary  power  by  flattery  of  the 
multitude,  fearless  because  godless,  Liberal  because  un- 
English,  were  ready  to  pull  one  stone  from  under  another  in 
the  national  edifice,  till  the  great  structure  tottered  to  its 
fall.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Duffield  Watchman  saw  in 
this  signal  instance  of  self-liberation  from  the  trammels  of 
prejudice,  a decisive  guarantee  of  intellectual  pre-eminence, 
united  with  a generous  sensibility  to  the  claims  of  man  as 
man,  which  had  burst  asunder,  and  cast  off,  by  a spontaneous 
exertion  of  energy,  the  cramping  out-worn  shell  of  heredi- 
tary bias  and  class  interest. 

But  these  large-minded  guides  of  public  opinion,  argued 
from  wider  data  than  could  be  furnished  by  any  knowledge 
of  the  particular  case  concerned.  Harold  Transome  was 
neither  the  dissolute  cosmopolitan  so  vigorously  sketched  by 
the  Tory  Herald , nor  the  intellectual  giant  and  moral 
lobster  suggested  by  the  Liberal  imagination  of  the  Watch- 
man. Twenty  years  ago  he  had  been  a bright,  active,  good- 
tempered  lad,  with  sharp  eyes  and  a good  aim  ; he  delighted 
in  success  and  in  predominance  ; but  he  did  not  long  for  an 
impossible  predominance,  and  become  sour  and  sulky  be- 
cause it  was  impossible.  He  played  at  the  games  he  was 
clever  in,  and  usually  won  ; all  other  games  he  let  alone,  and 
thought  them  of  little  worth.  At  home  and  at  Eton  he  had 
been  side  by  side  with  his  stupid  elder  brother  Durfey,  whom 
he  despised ; and  he  very  early  began  to  reflect  that  since 
this  Caliban  in  miniature  was  older  than  himself,  he  must 
carve  out  his  own  fortune.  That  was  a nuisance;  and  on 
the  whole  the  world  seemed  rather  ill-arranged,  at  Eton  es- 
pecially, where  there  were  many  reasons  why  Harold  made 
no  great  figure.  He  was  not  sorry  the  money  was  wanting 
to  send  him  to  Oxford  ; he  did  not  see  the  good  of  Oxford  ; 
he  had  been  surrounded  by  many  things  during  his  short 
life,  of  which  he  had  distinctly  said  to  himself  that  he  did 
not  see  the  good,  and  he  was  not  disposed  to  venerate  on  the 
strength  of  any  good  that  others  saw.  He  turned  his  back 
on  home  very  cheerfully,  though  he  was  rather  fond  of  his 
mother,  and  very  fond  of  Transome  Court,  and  the  river 
where  he  had  been  used  to  fish  ; but  he  said  to  himself  as 
he  passed  the  lodge-gates,  “ I'll  get  rich  somehow,  and  have 
an  estate  of  my  own,  and  do  what  I like  with  it.”  This  de- 
termined aiming  at  something  not  easy  but  clearly  possible, 


THE  RADICAL. 


IOI 


marked  the  direction  in  which  Harold’s  nature  was  strong  ; 
he  had  the  energetic  will  and  muscle,  the  self-confidence, 
the  quick  perception,  and  the  narrow  imagination  which 
make  what  is  admiringly  called  the  practical  mind. 

Since  then  his  character  had  been  ripened  by  a various 
experience,  and  also  by  much  knowledge  which  he  had  set 
himself  deliberately  to  gain.  But  the  man  was  no  more 
than  the  boy  writ  large,  with  an  extensive  commentary. 
The  years  had  nourished  an  inclination  to  as  much  opposi- 
tion as  would  enable  him  to  assert  his  own  independence 
and  power  without  throwing  himself  into  that  tabooed  con- 
dition which  robs  power  of  its  triumph.  And  this  inclina- 
tion had  helped  his  shrewdness  in  forming  judgments  which 
were  at  once  innovating  and  moderate.  He  was  addicted 
at  once  to  rebellion  and  to  conformity,  and  only  an  inti- 
mate personal  knowledge  could  enable  any  one  to  predict 
where  his  conformity  would  begin.  The  limit  was  not 
defined  by  theory,  but  was  drawn  in  an  irregular  zigzag  by 
early  disposition  and  association  ; and  his  resolution,  of 
which  he  had  never  lost  hold,  to  be  a thorough  Englishman 
again  some  day,  had  kept  up  the  habit  of  considering  all 
his  conclusions  with  reference  to  English  politics  and 
English  social  conditions.  He  meant  to  stand  up  for  every 
change  that  the  economical  condition  of  the  country  required, 
and  he  had  an  angry  contempt  for  men  with  coronets  on  their 
coaches,  but  too  small  a share  of  brains  to  see  when  they  had 
better  make  a virtue  of  necessity.  His  respect  was  rather  for 
men  who  had  no  coronets,  but  who  achieved  a just  influence 
by  furthering  all  measures  which  the  common-sense  of  the 
country,  and  the  increasing  self-assertion  of  the  majority, 
peremptorily  demanded.  He  could  be  such  a man  himself. 

In  fact  Harold  Transome  was  a clever,  frank,  good- 
natured  egoist  ; not  stringently  consistent,  but  without  any 
disposition  to  falsity  ; but  with  a pride  that  was  moulded  in 
an  individual  rather  than  an  hereditary  form  ; unspecula- 
tive,  unsentimental,  unsympathetic  ; fond  of  sensual  pleasures, 
but  disinclined  to  all  vice,  and  attached  as  a healthy,  clear- 
sighted person,  to  all  conventional  morality,  construed  with 
a certain  freedom,  like  doctrinal  articles  to  which  the  public 
order  may  require  subscription.  A character  is  apt  to  look 
but  indifferently,  written  out  in  this  way.  Reduced  to  a 
map,  our  premises  seem  insignificant,  but  they  make,  never- 
theless, a very  pretty  freehold  to  live  in  and  walk  over  ; and 
so,  if  Harold  Transome  had  been  among  your  acquaintances^ 


102 


FELIX  HOLT, 


and  you  had  observed  his  qualities  through  the  medium  of  his 
agreeable  person,  bright  smile,  and  a certain  easy  charm  which 
accompanies  sensuousness  when  unsullied  by  coarseness — 
through  the  medium  also  of  the  many  opportunities  in  which 
he  would  have  made  himself  useful  or  pleasant  to  you — you 
would  have  thought  him  a good  fellow,  highly  acceptable  as  a 
guest,  a colleague,  or  a brother-in-law.  Whether  all  mothers 
would  have  liked  him  as  a son  is  another  question. 

It  is  a fact  perhaps  kept  a little  too  much  in  the  back- 
ground, that  mothers  have  a self  larger  than  their  maternity, 
and  that  when  their  sons  have  become  taller  than  them- 
selves, and  are  gone  from  them  to  college  or  into  the  world, 
there  are  wide  spaces  of  their  time  which  are  not  filled  with 
praying  for  their  boys,  reading  old  letters,  and  envying  yet 
blessing  those  who  are  attending  to  their  shirt-buttons. 
Mrs.  Transome  was  certainly  not  one  of  those  bland,  ador- 
ing, and  gently  tearful  women.  After  sharing  the  common 
dream  that  when  a beautiful  man-child  was  born  to  her, 
her  cup  of  happiness  would  be  full,  she  had  travelled  through 
long  years  apart  from  that  child  to  find  herself  at  last  in  the 
presence  of  a son  of  whom  she  was  afraid,  who  was  utterly 
unmanageable  by  her,  and  to  whose  sentiments  in  any  given 
case  she  possessed  no  key.  Yet  Harold  was  a kind  son  : 
he  kissed  his  mother’s  brow,  offered  her  his  arm,  let  her 
choose  what  she  liked  for  the  house  and  garden,  asked  her 
whether  she  would  have  bays  or  grays  for  her  new  carriage, 
and  was  bent  on  seeing  her  make  as  good  a figure  in  the 
neighborhood  as  any  other  woman  of  her  rank.  She  trem- 
bled under  this  kindness  : it  was  not  enough  to  satisfy  her  ; 
still,  if  it  should  ever  cease  and  give  place  to  something  else 
— she  was  too  uncertain  about  Harold’s  feelings  to  imagine 
clearly  what  that  something  would  be.  The  finest  threads, 
such  as  no  eye  sees,  if  bound  cunningly  about  the  sensitive 
flesh,  so  that  the  movement  to  break  them  would  bring  tor- 
ture, may  make  a worse  bondage  than  any  fetters.  Mrs. 
Transome  felt  the  fatal  thread  about  her,  and  the  bitterness 
of, ’this  helpless  bondage  mingled  itself  with  the  new  elegancies 
of  the  dining  and  drawing-rooms,  and  all  the  household 
changes  which  Harold  had  ordered  to  be  brought  about 
with  magical  quickness.  Nothing  was  as  she  had  once 
expected  it  would  be.  If  Harold  had  shown  the  least  care 
to  have  her  stay  in  the  room  with  him — if  he  had  really 
cared  for  her  opinion — if  he  had  been  what  she  had  dreamed 
he  would  be  in  the  eyes  of  those  people  who  had  made  her 


THE  RADICAL. 


I03 


world — if  all  the  past  could  be  dissolved,  and  ler-.ve  no  solid 
trace  of  itself — mighty  ifs  that  were  all  imj  ^ssible — she 
would  have  tasted  some  joy  ; but  now  she  began  to  look 
back  with  regret  to  the  days  when  she  sat  in  loneliness 
among  the  old  drapery,  and  still  longed  for  something  that 
might  happen.  Yet,  save  in  a bitter  little  speech,  or  in  a 
deep  sigh,  heard  by  no  one  besides  Denner,  she  kept  all 
these  things  hidden  in  her  heart,  and  went  out  in  the 
autumn  sunshine  to  overlook  the  alterations  in  the  pleasure- 
grounds  very  much  as  a happy  woman  might  have  done. 
One  day,  however,  when  she  was  occupied  in  this  way,  an 
occasion  came  on  which  she  chose  to  express  indirectly  a 
part  of  her  inward  care. 

She  was  standing  on  the  broad  gravel  in  the  afternoon  ; 
the  long  shadows  lay  on  the  grass;  the  light  seemed  the 
more  glorious  because  of  the  reddened  and  golden  trees. 
The  gardeners  were  busy  at  their  pleasant  work  ; the  newly- 
turned  soil  gave  out  an  agreeable  fragrance  ; and  little  Harry 
was  playing  with  Nimrod  round  old  Mr.  Transome,  who  sat 
placidly  on  a low  garden-chair.  The  scene  would  have 
made  a charming  picture  of  English  domestic  life,  and  the 
handsome,  majestic,  grayhaired  woman  (obviously  grand- 
mamma) would  have  been  especially  admired.  But  the 
artist  would  have  felt  it  requisite  to  turn  her  face  toward  her 
husband  and  little  grandson,  and  to  have  given  her  an  eld- 
erly amiability  of  expression  which  would  have  divided  re- 
mark with  his  exquisite  rendering  of  her  Indian  shawl.  Mrs. 
Transome’s  face  was  turned  the  other  way,  and  for  this  rea- 
son she  only  heard  an  approaching  step,  and  did  not  see 
whose  it  was  ; yet  it  startled  her  : it  was  not  quick  enough 
to  be  her  son’s  step,  and  besides,  Harold  was  away  at  Duf- 
field.  It  was  Mr.  Jermyn’s. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

“ A woman  naturally  born  to  fears.” — Kingjohn. 

“ Methinks, 

Some  unborn  sorrow,  ripe  in  fortune’s  womb, 

Is  coming  toward  me;  and  my  inward  soul 
With  nothing  trembles.” — King  Richard  II. 

Matthew  Jermyn  approached  Mrs.  Transome  taking  off 
his  hat  and  smiling.  She  did  not  smile,  but  said — 

“ You  knew  Harold  was  not  at  home  ? ” 

“ Yes  ; I came  to  see  you,  to  know  if  you  had  any  wishes 
that  I could  further,  since  I have  r.ot  had  an  opportunity  of 
consulting  you  since  he  came  home.” 


io4 


FELIX  HOLT, 


Let  us  walk  toward  the  Rookery,  then/’ 

They  tun  ed  together,  Mr.  Jermyn  still  keeping  his  hat 
off  and  holding  it  behind  him  ; the  air  was  so  soft  and 
agreeable  that  Mrs.  Transome  had  nothing  but  a large  veil 
over  her  head. 

They  walked  for  a little  while  in  silence  till  they  were  out 
of  sight,  under  tall  trees,  and  treading  noiselessly  on  falling 
leaves.  What  Jermyn  was  really  most  anxious  about,  was 
to  learn  from  Mrs.  Transome  whether  anything  had  trans- 
pired that  was  significant  of  Harold’s  disposition  toward  him, 
which  he  suspected  to  be  very  far  from  friendly.  Jermyn 
was  not  naturally  flinty-hearted  : at  five-and-twenty  he  had 
written  verses,  and  had  got  himself  wet  through  in  order  not 
to  disappoint  a dark-eyed  woman  whom  he  was  proud  to  be- 
lieve in  love  with  him  ; but  a family  man  with  grown  up 
sons  and  daughters,  a man  with  a professional  position  and 
complicated  affairs  that  make  it  hard  to  ascertain  the  exact 
relation  between  property  and  liabilities,  necessarily  thinks 
of  himself  and  what  may  be  impending. 

“ Harold  is  remarkably  acute  and  clever,”  he  began  at 
-’'last,  since  Mrs.  Transome  did  not  speak.  “ If  he  gets  into 
Parliament,  I have  no  doubt  he  will  distinguish  himself.  He 
has  a quick  eye  for  business  of  all  kinds.” 

“ That  is  no  comfort  to  me,”  said  Mrs.  Transome.  To- 
day she  was  more  conscious  than  usual  of  that  bitterness 
which  was  always  in  her  mind  in  Jermyn’s  presence,  but 
which  was  carefully  suppressed  : — suppressed  because  she 
could  not  endure  that  the  degradation  she  inwardly  felt 
should  ever  become  visible  or  audible  in  acts  or  words  of 
her  own — should  ever  be  reflected  in  any  word  or  look  of  his. 
For  years  there  had  been  a deep  silence  about  the  past  be- 
tween them  ; on  her  side  because  she  remembered  ; on  his, 
because  he  more  and  more  forgot. 

“ I trust  he  is  not  unkind  to  you  in  any  way.  I know  his 
opinions  pain  you  ; but  I trust  you  find  him  in  everything 
else  disposed  to  be  a good  son.” 

“ Oh,  to  be  sure — good  as  men  are  disposed  to  be  to  women, 
giving  them  cushions  and  carriages,  and  recommending  them 
to  enjoy  themselves,  and  then  expecting  them  to  be  con- 
tented under  contempt  and  neglect.  I have  no  power  over 
him — remember  that — none.” 

Jermyn  turned  to  look  in  Mrs.  Transome’s  face  : it  was 
long  since  he  had  heard  her  speak  to  him  as  if  she  were 
losing  her  self-command. 


THE  RADICAL.  105 

“ Has  he  shown  any  unpleasant  feeling  about  your  man- 
agement of  affairs  ? ” 

“ My  management  ! ” Mrs.  Transome  said,  with  concen- 
trated rage,  flashing  a fierce  look  at  Jermyn.  She  checked 
herself  : she  felt  as  if  she  were  lighting  a torch  to  flare  on 
her  own  past  folly  and  misery.  It  was  a resolve  which  had 
become  a habit,  that  she  would  never  quarrel  with  this  man 
— never  tell  him  what  she  saw  him  to  be.  She  had  kept  her 
woman’s  pride  and  sensibility  intact  : through  all  her  life 
there  had  vibrated  the  maiden  need  to  have  her  hand  kissed 
and  be  the  object  of  chivalry.  And  so  she  sank  into  silence 
again,  trembling. 

Jermyn  felt  annoyed — nothing  more.  There  was  nothing 
in  his  mind  corresponding  to  the  intricate  meshes  of  sensi- 
tiveness in  Mrs.  Transome’s.  He  was  anything  but  stupid  ; 
yet  he  always  blundered  when  he  wanted  to  be  delicate  or 
magnanimous  ; he  constantly  sought  to  soothe  others  by 
praising  himself.  Moral  vulgarity  cleaved  to  him  like  an 
hereditary  odor.  He  blundered  now. 

a My  dear  Mrs.  Transome,”  he  said,  in  a tone  of  bland 
kindness,  “ you  are  agitated — you  appear  angry  with  me. 
Yet  I think,  if  you  consider,  you  will  see  that  you  have 
nothing  to  complain  of  in  me,  unless  you  will  complain  of  the 
inevitable  course  of  man’s  life.  I have  always  met  your 
wishes  both  in  happy  circumstances  and  in  unhappy  ones. 
I should  be  ready  to  do  so  now,  if  it  were  possible.” 

Every  sentence  was  as  pleasant  to  her  as  if  it  had  been  cut 
in  her  bared  arm.  Some  men’s  kindness  and  love-making 
are  more  exasperating,  more  humiliating  than  others’  derision ; 
but  the  pitiable  woman  who  has  once  made  herself  secretly 
dependent  on  a man  who  is  beneath  her  in  feeling,  must  bear 
that  humiliation  for  fear  of  worse.  Coarse  kindness  is  at 
least  better  than  coarse  anger  ; and  in  all  private  quarrels 
the  duller  nature  is  triumphant  by  reason  of  its  dullness. 
Mrs.  Transome  knew  in  her  inmost  soul  that  those  relations 
which  had  sealed  her  lips  on  Jermyn’s  conduct  in  business 
matters,  had  been  with  him  a ground  for  presuming  that  he 
should  have  impunity  in  any  lax  dealing  into  which  circum- 
stances had  led  him.  She  knew  that  she  herself  had  endured 
all  the  more  privation  because  of  his  dishonest  selfishness. 
And  now,  Harold’s  long-deferred  heirship,  and  his  return 
with  startlingly  unexpected  penetration,  activity,  and  asser- 
tion of  mastery,  had  placed  them  both  in  the  full  presence 
of  a difficulty  which  had  been  prepared  by  the  years  of  vague 


io6 


FELIX  HOLT, 


uncertainty  as  to  issues.  In  this  position,  with  a great  dread 
hanging  over  her,  which  Jermvn  knew,  and  ought  to  have 
felt  that  he  had  caused  her,  she  was  inclined  to  lash  him 
with  indignation,  to  scorch  him  with  the  words  that  were 
just  the  fit  names  for  his  doings — inclined  all  the  more  when 
he  spoke  with  an  insolent  blandness,  ignoring  all  that  was 
truly  in  her  heart.  But  no  sooner  did  the  words  “ You  have 
brought  it  on  me  ” rise  within  her  than  she  heard  within  also 
the  retort,  “ You  brought  it  on  yourself.”  Not  for  all  the 
world  beside  could  she  bear  to  hear  that  retort  uttered  from 
without.  What  did  she  do  ? With  strange  sequence  to  all 
that  rapid  tumult,  after  a few  moments’  silence  she  said — 
“ Let  me  take  your  arm.” 

He  gave^it  immediately,  putting  on  his  hat  and  wondering. 
For  more  than  twenty  years  Mrs.  Transome  had  never  chosen 
to  take  his  arm. 

“ I have  but  one  thing  to  ask.  Make  me  a promise.” 

“ What  is  it  ? ” 

“ That  you  will  never  quarrel  with  Harold.” 

“ You  must  know  that  it  is  my  wish  not  to  quarrel  with  him.” 
“ But  make  a vow — fix  it  in  your  mind  as  a thing  not  to  be 
done.  Bear  anything  from  him  rather  than  quarrel  with  him.” 
“ A man  can’t  make  a vow  not  to  quarrel,”  said  Jermyn, 
who  was  already  a little  irritated  by  the  implication  that 
Harold  might  be  disposed  to  use  him  roughly.  “ A man’s 
temper  may  get  the  better  of  him  at  any  moment.  I am  not 
prepared  to  bear  anything .” 

“ Good  God!”  said  Mrs.  Transome,  takingherhand  from  his 
arm,  “ is  it  possible  you  don’t  feel  how  horrible  it  would  be  ? ” 
As  she  took  away  her  hand,  Jermyn  let  his  arm  fall,  put 
both  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  shrugging  his  shoulders 
said,  “ I shall  use  him  as  he  uses  me.” 

Jermyn  had  turned  round  his  savage  side,  and  the  bland- 
ness was  out  of  sight.  It  was  this  that  had  always  frightened 
Mrs.  Transome:  there  was  a possibility  of  fierce  insolence 
in  this  man  who  was  to  pass  with  those  nearest  to  her  as  her 
indebted  servant,  but  whose  brand  she  secretly  bore.  She 
was  as  powerless  with  him  as  she  was  with  her  own  son. 

This  woman,  who  loved  rule,  dared  not  speak  another 
word  of  attempted  persuasion.  They  were  both  silent, 
taking  the  nearest  way  into  the  sunshine  again.  There  was 
a half-formed  wish  in  both  their  minds — even  in  the  mother’s 
— that  Harold  Transome  had  never  been  born. 

u We  are  working  hard  for  the  election,”  said  Jermyn^ 


THE  RADICAL. 


107 


recovering  himself,  as  they  turned  into'the  sunshine  again. 
“ I think  we  shall  get  him  returned,  and  in  that  case  he  will 
be  in  high  good-humor.  Everything  will  be  more  propi- 
tious than  you  are  apt  to  think.  You  must  persuade  your- 
. self,”  he  added,  smiling  at  her,  “ that  it  is  better  for  a man  of 
his  position  to  be  in  Parliament  on  the  wrong  side  than  not 
to  be  in  at  all.” 

“ Never,”  said  Mrs.  Transome.  “I  am  too  old  to  learn 
to  call  bitter  sweet  and  sweet  bitter.  But  what  I may  think 
or  feel  is  of  no  consequence  now.  I am  as  unnecessary  as 
a chimney  ornament.,, 

And  in  this  way  they  parted  on  the  gravel,  in  that  pretty 
scene  where  they  had  met.  Mrs.  Transome  shivered  as  she 
stood  alone  : all  around  her,  where  there  had  once  been 
brightness  and  warmth,  there  were  white  ashes,  and  the 
sunshine  looked  dreary  as  it  fell  on  them. 

Mr.  Jermyn’s  heaviest  reflections  in  riding  homeward 
turned  on  the  possibility  of  incidents  between  himself  and 
Harold  Transome  which  would  have  disagreeable  results, 
requiring  him  to  raise  money,  and  perhaps  causing  scandal, 
which  in  its  way  might  also  help  to  create  a monetary  deficit. 
A man  of  sixty,  with  a wife  whose  Duffield  connections  were 
of  the  highest  respectability,  with  a family  of  tall  daughters, 
an  expensive  establishment,  and  a large  professional  business, 
owed  a great  deal  more  to  himself  as  the  mainstay  of  all 
those  solidities,  than  to  feelings  and  ideas  which  were  quite 
unsubstantial.  There  were  many  unfortunate  coincidences 
which  placed  Mr.  Jermyn  in  an  uncomfortable  position  just 
now  ; he  had  not  been  much  to  blame,  he  considered  ; if 
it  had  not  been  for  a sudden  turn  of  affairs  no  one  would 
have  complained.  He  defied  any  man  to  say  that  he  had 
intended  to  wrong  people  ; he  was  able  to  refund,  to  make 
reprisals,  if  they  could  be  fairly  demanded.  Only  he  would 
certainly  have  preferred  that  they  should  not  be  demanded. 

A German  poet  was  entrusted  with  a particularly  fine 
sausage,  which  he  was  to  convey  to  the  donor’s  friend  at 
Paris.  In  the  course  of  a long  journey  he  smelled  the  sau- 
sage ; he  got  hungry,  afid  desired  to  taste  it  ; he  pared  a 
morsel  off,  then  another,  and  another, in  successive  moments 
of  temptation,  till  at  last  the  sausage  was,  humanly  speak- 
ing, at  an  end.  The  offence  had  not  been  premeditated. 
The  poet  had  never  loved  meanness,  but  he  loved  sausage  ; 
and  the  result  was  undeniably  awkward. 

So  it  was  with  Matthew  Jermyn.  He  was  far  from 


io8 


FELIX  HOLT, 


liking  that  ugly  abstraction  rascality,  but  he  had  liked  other 
things  which  had  suggested  nibbling.  He  had  to  do  many 
things  in  law  and  in  daily  life  which,  in  the  abstract,  he  would 
have  condemned  ; and  indeed  he  had  never  been  tempted  by 
them  in  the  abstract.  Here,  in  fact,  was  the  inconvenience  : 
he  had  sinned  for  the  sake  of  particular  concrete  things,  and 
particular  concrete  consequences  were  likely  to  follow. 

But  he  was  a man  of  resolution,  who,  having  made  out 
what  was  the  best  course  to  take  under  a difficulty,  went 
straight  to  his  work.  The  election  must  be  won  : that 
would  put  Harold  in  good-humor,  give  him  something  to  do, 
and  leave  himself  more  time  to  prepare  for  any  crisis. 

He  was  in  anything  but  low  spirits  that  evening.  It  was 
his  eldest  daughter’s  birthday,  and  the  young  people  had  a 
dance.  Papa  was  delightful — stood  up  for  a quadrille  and 
a country-dance,  told  stories  at  supper,  and  made  humorous 
quotations  from  his  early  readings  : if  these  were  Latin,  he 
apologized,  and  translated  to  the  ladies  ; so  that  a deaf 
lady-visitor  from  Duffield  kept  her  trumpet  up  continually, 
lest  she  should  lose  any  of  Mr.  Jermyn’s  conversation,  and 
wished  that  her  niece  Maria  had  been  present,  who  was 
young  and  had  a good  memory. 

Still  the  party  was  smaller  than  usual,  for  some  families  in 
Treby  refused  to  visit  Jermyn,  now  that  he  was  concerned 
for  a Radical  candidate. 

CHAPTER  X. 

“ He  made  love  neither  with  roses,  nor  with  apples,  nor  with  locks  of  hair.” — The- 
ocritus. + 

One  Sunday  afternoon  Felix  Holt  rapped  at  the  door  of 
Mr.  Lyon’s  house,  although  he  could  hear  the  voice  of  the 
minister  preaching  in  the  chapel.  He  stood  with  a book 
under  his  arm,  apparently  confident  that  there  was  some  one 
in  the  house  to  open  the  door  for  him.  In  fact,  Esther 
never  went  to  chapel  in  the  afternoon  : that  “ exercise  ” 
made  her  head  ache. 

In  these  September  weeks  Felix  had  got  rather  intimate 
with  Mr.  Lyon.  They  shared  the  same  political  sympathies  ; 
and  though,  to  Liberals  who  had  neither  freehold  nor  copy 
hold  nor  leasehold,  the  share  in  a county  election  consisted 
chiefly  of  that  prescriptive  amusement  of  the  majority  known 
as  “ looking  on,”  there  was  still  something  to  be  said  on  the 
occasion,  if  not  to  be  done.  Perhaps  the  most  delightful 
friendships  are  those  in  which  there  is  much  agreement. 


THE  RADICAL.  109 

much  disputation,  and  yet  more  personal  liking  ; and  the 
advent  of  the  public-spirited,  contradictory,  yet  affectionate 
Felix,  into  Treby  life,  had  made  a welcome  epoch  to  the 
minister.  To  talk  with  this  young  man,  who,  though  hope- 
ful, had  a singularity  which  some  might  at  once  have  pro- 
nounced heresy,  but  which  Mr.  Lyon  persisted  in  regarding 
as  orthodoxy  “in  the  making,”  was  like  a good  bite  to  strong 
teeth  after  a too  plentiful  allowance  of  spoon  meat.  To 
cultivate  his  society  with  a view  to  checking  his  erratic  ten- 
dencies was  a laudable  purpose;  but  perhaps  if  Felix  had 
been  rapidly  subdued  and  reduced  to  conformity,  little  Mr. 
Lyon  would  have  found  the  conversation  much  flatter. 

Esther  had  not  seen  so  much  of  their  new  acquaintance 
as  her  father  had.  But  she  had  begun  to  find  him  amusing, 
and  also  rather  irritating  to  her  woman’s  love  of  conquest. 
He  always  opposed  and  criticised  her  ; and  besides  that,  he 
looked  at  her  as  if  he  never  saw  a single  detail  about  her  per- 
son— quite  as  if  she  were  a middle-aged  woman  in  a cap. 
She  did  not  believe  that  he  had  ever  admired  her  hands,  or 
her  long  neck,  or  her  graceful  movements,  which  had  made 
all  the  girls  at  school  call  her  Calypso  (doubtless  from  their 
familiarity  with  “ Telemaque  ”).  Felix  ought  properly  to 
have  been  a little  in  love  with  her — never  mentioning  it,  of 
course,  because  that  would  have  been  disagreeable,  and  his 
being  a regular  lover  was  out  of  the  question.  But  it  was 
quite  clear  that,  instead  of  feeling  any  disadvantage  on  his 
own  side,  he  held  himself  to  be  immeasurably  her  superior  : 
and,  what  was  worse,  Esther  had  a secret  consciousness  that 
he  was  her  superior.  She  was  all  the  more  vexed  at  the 
suspicion  that  he  thought  slightly  of  her  ; and  wished  in  her 
vexation  that  she  could  have  found  more  fault  with  him — 
that  she  had  not  been  obliged  to  admire  more  and  more  the 
varying  expressions  of  his  open  face  and  his  deliciously 
good-humored  laugh,  always  loud  at  a joke  against  himself. 
Besides,  she  could  not  help  having  her  curiosity  roused  by 
the  unusual  combinations  both  in  his  mind  and  in  his  outward 
position,  and  she  had  surprised  herself  as  well  as  her  father 
one  day  by  suddenly  starting  up  and  proposing  to  walk  with 
him  when  he  was  going  to  pay  an  afternoon  visit  to  Mrs. 
Holt,  to  try  and  soothe  her  concerning  Felix.  “ What  a 
mother  he  has  ! ” she  said  to  herself  when  they  came  away 
again  ; “but,  rude  and  queer  as  he  is,  I cannot  say  there  is 
anything  vulgar  about  him.  Yet — I don’t  know — if  I saw 
him  by  the  side  of  a finished  gentleman.”  Esther  wished  that 


no 


FELIX  HOLT, 


finished  gentleman  were  among  her  acquaintances  : he  would 
certainly  admire  her, and  make  her  aware  of  Felix’s  inferiority. 

On  this  particular  Sunday  afternoon,  when  she  heard  the 
knock  at  the  door,  she  was  seated  in  the  kitchen  corner 
between  the  fire  and  the  window  reading  “Rene.”  Certainly 
in  her  well-fitting  light-blue  dress — she  almost  always  wore 
some  shade  of  blue' — with  her  delicate  sandaled  slipper 
stretched  toward  the  fire,  her  little  gold  watch,  which  had 
cost  her  nearly  a quarter’s  earnings,  visible  at  her  side,  her 
slender  fingers  playing  with  a shower  of  brown  curls,  and  a 
coronet  of  shining  plaits,  at  the  summit  of  her  head,  she  was 
a remarkable  Cinderella.  When  the  rap  came,  she  colored, 
and  was  going  to  shut  her  book  and  put  it  out  of  the  way  on 
the  window  ledge  behind  her  ; but  she  desisted  with  a little 
toss,  laid  it  open  on  the  table  beside  her, and  walked  to  the  outer 
door,  which  opened  into  the  kitchen.  There  was  rather  a mis- 
chievous gleam  in  her  face : the  rap  was  not  a small  one  ; 
it  came  probably  from  a large  personage  with  a vigorous  arm. 

“ Good  afternoon,  Miss  Lyon,”  said  Felix,  taking  off  his 
cloth  cap  : he  resolutely  declined  the  expensive  ugliness  of 
a hat,  and  in  a poked  cap  and  without  a cravat,  made  a 
figure  at  which  his  mother  cried  every  Sunday,  and  thought 
of  with  a slow  shake  of  the  head  at  several  passages  in  the 
minister’s  prayer. 

“ Dear  me,  it  is  you,  Mr.  Holt  ! I fear  you  will  have  to 
wait  some  time  before  you  can  see  my.  father.  The  sermon 
is  not  ended  yet,'  and  there  will  be  the  hymn  and  the  prayer, 
and  perhaps  other  things  to  detain  him.” 

“Well,  will  you  let  me  sit  down  in  the  kitchen  ? I don’t 
want  to  be  a bore.” 

“ Oh,  no,”  said  Esther,  with  her  pretty  light  laugh,  “ I 
always  give  you  credit  for  not  meaning  it.  Pray  come  in,  if 
you  don’t  mind  waiting.  I was  sitting  in  the  kitchen  : the 
kettle  is  singing  quite  prettily.  It  is  much  nicer  than  the 
parlor — not  half  so  ugly.” 

“There  I agree  with  you.” 

“ How  very  extraordinary  ! But  if  you  prefer  the  kitchen,' 
and  don’t  want  to  sit  with  me,  I can  go  into  the  parlor.” 

“I  came  on  purpose  to  sit  with  you,”  said  Felix,  in  his 
blunt  way,  “but  I thought  it  likely  you  might  be  vexed  at 
seeing  me.  I wanted  to  talk  to  you,  but  I’ve  got  nothing 
pleasant  to  say.  As  your  father  would  have  it,  I’m  not 
given  to  prophesy  smooth  things — to  prophesy  deceit.”* 

“I  understand,”  said  Esther,  sitting  down.  “Pray  be 


THE  kADICAL. 


Ill 


seated.  You  thought  I had  no  afternoon  sermon,  so  you 
came  to  give  me  one.” 

“ Yes/’  said  Felix,  seating  himself  sideways  in  a chair  not 
far  off  her,  and  leaning  over  the  back  to  look  at  her  with  his 
large,  clear,  gray  eyes,  “ and  my  text  is  something  you  said 
the  other  day.  You  said  you  didn’t  mind  about  people  hav- 
ing right  opinions  so  that  they  had  good  taste.  Now  I want 
you  to  see  what  shallow  stuff  that  is.” 

“ Oh,  I don’t  doubt  it  if  you  say  so.  I know  you  are  a 
person  of  right  opinions.” 

“ But  by  opinions  you  mean  men’s  thoughts  about  great 
subjects,  and  by  taste  you  mean  their  thoughts  about  small 
ones:  dress,  behavior,  amusements,,  ornaments.” 

“ Well — yes — or  rather,  their  sensibilities  about  those 
things.” 

“ It  comes  to  the  same  thing  ; thoughts,  opinions,  knowl- 
edge, are  only  a sensibility  to  facts  and  ideas.  If  I under- 
stand a geometrical  problem,  it  is  because  I have  a sensi- 
bility to  the  way  in  which  lines  and  figures  are  related  to 
each  other  ; and  I want  you  to  see  that  the  creature*who 
has  the  sensibilities  that  you  call  taste,  and  not  the  sensi- 
bilities that  you  call  opinions,  is  simply  a lower,  pettier  sort 
of  thing — an  insect  that  notices  the  shaking  of  the  table,  but 
never  notices  the  thunder.” 

“ Very  well,  I am  an  insect  ; yet  I notice  that  you  are 
thundering  at  me.” 

“ No,  you  are  not  an  insect.  That  is  what  exasperates  me 
at  your  making  a boast  of  littleness.  You  have  enough  un- 
derstanding to  make  it  wicked  that  you  should  add  one  more 
to  the  women  who  hinder  men’s  lives  from  having  any  noble- 
ness in  them.” 

Esther  colored  deeply  : she  resented  this  speech,  yet  she 
disliked  it  less  than  many  Felix  had  addressed  to  her. 

“ What  is  my  horrible  guilt?”  she  said,  rising  and  stand- 
ing, as  she  was  wont,  with  one  foot  on  the  fender,  and  look- 
ing at  the  fire.  If  it  had  been  any  one  but  Felix  who  was 
near  her,  it  might  have  occurred  to  her  that  this  attitude 
showed  her  to  advantage  ; but  she  had  only  a mortified  sense 
that  he  was  quite  indifferent  to  what  others  praised  her  for. 

“ Why  do  you  read  this  mawkish  stuff  on  a Sunday,  for 
example  ?”  he  said,  snatching  up  “ Rene,”  and  running  his 
eye  over  the  pages. 

“ Why  don’t  you  always  go  to  chapel,  Mr.  Holt,  and  read 
Howe’s  4 Living  Temple,’  and  join  the  church  ? ” 


I I 2 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ There's  just  the  difference  between  us — I know  why  1 
don’t  do  those  things.  I distinctly  see  that  I can  do  some- 
thing better.  I have  other  principles,  and  should  sink,  my- 
self by  doing  what  I don’t  recognize  as  the  best.” 

“ I understand,”  said  Esther,  as  lightly  as  she  could,  to 
conceal  her  bitterness.  “ I am  a lower  kind  of  being,  and 
could  not  so  easily  sink  myself.” 

“ Not  by  entering  into  your  father’s  ideas.  If  a woman 
really  believes  herself  to  be  a lower  kind  of  being,  she  should 
place  herself  in  subjection  : she  should  be  ruled  by  the 
thoughts  of  her  father  or  husband.  If  not,  let  her  show  her 
power  of  choosing  something  better.  You  must  know  that 
your  father’s  principles  are  greater  and  worthier  than  what 
guides  your  life.  You  have  no  reason  but  idle  fancy  and 
selfish  inclination  for  shirking  his  teaching  and  giving  your 
soul  up  to  trifles.” 

“ You  are  kind  enough  to  *say  so.  But  I am  not  aware 
that  I have  ever  confided  my  reasons  to  you.” 

“ Why,  what  worth  calling  a reason  could  make  any  mor- 
tal hang  over  this  trash  ? — idiotic  immorality  dressed  up  to 
look  fine,  with  a little  bit  of  doctrine  tacked  to  it,  like  a 
hare’s  foot  on  a dish,  to  make  believe  the  mess  is  not  cat’s 
■flesh.  Look  here  ! ‘ Est-ce  ma  faute,  si  je  trouve  partout 

les  bornes,  si  ce  qui  est  fini  n’a  pour  moi  aucune  valeur  ? ’ 
Yes,  sir,  distinctly  your  fault,  because  you’re  an  ass.  Your 
dunce  who  can’t  do  his  sums  always  has  a taste  for  the  in- 
finite. Sir,  do  you  know  what  a rhomboid  is  ? Oh,  no,  I 
don’t  value  these  things  with  limits.  ‘ Cependant,  j’aime  la 
monotonie  des  sentimens  de  la  vie,  et  si  j’avais  encore  la 

folie  de  croire  au  bonheur ’ ” 

“ Oh,  pray,  Mr.  Holt,  don’t  go  on  reading  with  that  dread- 
ful accent  ; it  sets  one’s  teeth  on  edge.”  Esther,  smarting 
helplessly  under  the  previous  lashes,  was  relieved  by  this 
diversion  of  criticism. 

“ There  it  is  ! ” said  Felix,  throwing  the  book  on  the  table, 
and  getting  up  to  walk  about.  “ You  are  only  happy  when 
you  can  spy  a tag  or  a tassel  loose  to  turn  the  talk,  and  get 
rid  of  any  judgment  that  must  carry  grave  action  after  it.” 
“ I think  I have  borne  a great  deal  of  talk  without  turn- 
ing it.” 

“ Not  enough,  Miss  Lyon — not  all  that  I came  to  say. 
I want  you  to  change.  Of  course  I am  a brute  to  say  so. 
I ought  to  say  you  are  perfect.  Another  man  would,  per- 
haps. But  I say  I want  you  to  change.” 


THE  RADICAL. 


US 


“ How  am  I to  oblige  you  ? By  joining  the  Church  ? ” 

“ No  ; but  by  asking  yourself  whether  life  is  not  as  sol- 
emn a thing  as  your  father  takes  it  to  be — in  which  you  may 
be  either  a blessing  or  a curse  to  many.  You  know  you 
have  never  done  that.  You  don’t  care  to  be  better  than  a 
bird  trimming  its  feathers,  and  pecking  about  after  what 
pleases  it.  You  are  discontented  with  the  world  because  you 
can’t  get  just  the  small  things  that  suit  your  pleasure,  not 
because  it’s  a world  where  myriads  of  men  and  women  are 
ground  by  wrong  and  misery,  and  tainted  with  pollution.” 
Esther  felt  her  heart  swelling  with  mingled  indignation  at 
this  liberty,  wounded  pride  at  this  depreciation,  and  acute 
consciousness  that  she  could  not  contradict  what  Felix  said. 
He  was  outrageously  ill-bred  ; but  she  felt  that  she  should 
be  lowering  herself  by  telling  him  so,  and  manifesting  her 
anger  ; in  that  way  she  would  be  confirming  his  accusation 
of  a littleness  that  shrank  from  severe  truth  ; and,  besides, 
through  all  her  mortification  there  pierced  a sense  that  this 
exasperation  of  Felix  against  her  was  more  complimentary 
than  anything  in  his  previous  behavior.  She  had  self-com- 
mand enough  to  speak  with  her  usual  silvery  voice. 

“ Pray  go  on,  Mr.  Holt.  Relieve  yourself  of  these  burning 
truths.  I am  sure  they  must  be  troublesome  to  carry  unuttered. ” 
“ Yes,  they  are,”  said  Felix,  pausing,  and  standing  not  far 
off  her.  “ I can’t  bear  to  see  you  going  the  way  of  the  fool- 
ish women  who  spoil  men’s  lives.  Men  can’t  help  loving 
them,  and  so  they  make  themselves  slaves  to  the  petty  desires 
of  petty  creatures.  That’s  the  way  those  who  might  do 
better  spend  their  lives  for  nought — get  checked  in  every 
great  effort — toil  with  brain  and  limb  for  things  that  have  no 
more  to  do  with  a manly  life  than  tarts  and  confectionery. 
That’s  what  makes  women  a curse  ; and  life  is  stunted  to 
suit  their  littleness.  That’s  why  I’ll  never  love,  if  I can  help 
it  ; and  if  I love,  I’ll  bear  it,  and  never  marry.” 

The  tumult  of  feeling  in  Esther’s  mind — mortification,  an- 
ger, the  sense  of  a terrible  power  over  her  that  Felix  seemed 
to  have  as  his  angry  words  vibrated  through  her — was  getting 
almost  too  much  for  her  self-control.  She  felt  her  lips  quiver- 
ing; but  her  pride,  which  feared  nothing  so  much  as  the  be- 
trayal of  her  emotion,  helped  her  to  a desperate  effort.  She 
pinched  her  own  hand  hard  to  overcome  her  tremor,  and 
said,  in  a tone  of  scorn  — 

“ I ought  to  be  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  giving  me  your 
confidence  so  freely.” 


FELIX  HOLT, 


114 

“ Ah!  now  you  are  offended  with  me,  and  disgusted  with 
me.  I expected  it  would  be  so.  A woman  doesn’t  like  a 
man  who  tells  her  the  truth.” 

“ I think  you  boast  a little  too  much  of  your  truth-telling, 
Mr.  Holt/’  said  Esther,  flashing  out  at  last.  “That  virtue 
is  apt  to  be  easy  to  people  when  they  only  wound  others  and 
not  themselves.  Telling  the  truth  often  means  no  more  than 
taking  a liberty.” 

“ Yes,  I suppose  I should  have  been  taking  a liberty  if  I «• 
had  tried  to  drag  you  back  by  the  skirt  when  I saw  you  run- 
ning into  a pit.” 

“ You  should  really  found  a sect.  Preaching  is  your  voca- 
tion. It  is  a pity  you  should  ever  have  an  audience  of  only  one.” 

“ I see  I have  made  a fool  of  myself.  I thought  you  had 
a more  generous  mind — that  you  might  be  kindled  to  a better 
ambition.  But  I’ve  set  your  vanity  aflame — nothing  else. 
I’m  going.  Good-bye.” 

“ Good-bye,”  said  Esther,  not  looking  at  him.  He  did 
not  open  the  door  immediately.  He  seemed  to  be  adjusting 
his  cap  and  pulling  it  down.  Esther  longed  to  be  able  to 
throw  a lasso  round  him  and  compel  him  to  stay,  that  she 
might  say  what  she  chose  to  him  ; her  very  anger  made  this 
departure  irritating,  especially  as  he  had  the  last  word,  and 
that  a very  bitter  one.  But  soon ' the  latch  was  lifted  and 
the  door  closed  behind  him.  She  ran  up  to  her  bedroom 
and  burst  into  tears.  Poor  maiden  ! There  was  a strange 
contradiction  of  impulses  in  her  mind  in  those  first  mo- 
ments. She  could  not  bear  that  Felix  should  not  respect 
her,  yet  she  could  not  bear  that  he  should  see  her  bend  be- 
fore his  denunciation.  She  revolted  against  his  assumption 
of  superiority,  yet  she  felt  herself  in  a new  kind  of  subjec- 
tion to  him.  He  was  ill-bred,  he  was  rude,  he  had  taken  an 
unwarrantable  liberty  ; yet  his  indignant  words  were  a trib- 
ute to  her  : he  thought  she  was  worth  more  pains  than 

the  women  of  whom  he  took  no  notice.  It  was  excessively 
impertinent  in  him  to  tell  her  of  his  resolving  not  to  love — 
not  to  marry — as  if  she  cared  about  that  ; as  if  he  thought 
himself  likely  to  inspire  an  affection  that  would  incline  any 
woman  to  marry  him  after  such  eccentric  steps  as  he  had 
taken.  Had  he  ever  for  a moment  imagined  that  she  had 
thought  of  him  in  the  light  of  a man  who  would  make  love 

to  her  ? But  did  he  love  her  one  little  bit,  and  was  that 

the  reason  why  he  wanted  her  to  change  ? Esther  felt  less 
angry  at  that  form  of  freedom  ; though  she  was  quite  sure 


THE  RADICAL, 


US 

that  she  did  not  love  him,  and  that  she  could  never  love  any- 
one who  was  so  much  of  a pedagogue  and  master,  to  say 
nothing  of  his  oddities.  But  he  wanted  her  to  change.  For 
the  first  time  in  her  life  Esther  felt  herself  seriously  shaken 
in  her  self-contentment.  She  knew  there  was  a mind  to 
which  she  appeared  trivial,  narrow,  selfish.  Every  word 
Felix  had  said  to  her  seemed  to  have  burned  itself  into  her 
memory.  She  felt  as  if  she  should  forevermore  be  haunted 
by  self-criticism,  and  never  do  anything  to  satisfy  those 
fancies  on  which  she  had  simply  piqued  herself  before  with- 
out being  dogged  by  inward  questions.  Her  father’s  desire 
for  her  conversion  had  never  moved  her  ; she  saw  that  he 
adored  her  all  the  while,  and  he  never  checked  her  unre- 
generate acts  as  if  they  degraded  her  on  earth,  but  only 
mourned  over  them  as  unfitting  her  for  heaven.  Unfitness 
for  heaven  (spoken  of  as  “ Jerusalem  ” and  “ glory”),  the 
prayers  of  a good  little  father,  whose  thoughts  and  motives 
seemed  to  her  like  the  “ Life  of  Dr.  Doddridge,”  which  she 
was  content  to  leave  unread,  did  not  attack  her  self-respect 
and  self-satisfaction.  But  now  she  had  been  stung — stung 
even  into  a new  consciousness  concerning  her  father.  Was 
it  true  that  his  life  was  so  much  worthier  than  her  own  ? 
She  could  not  change  for  anything  Felix  said,  but  she  told 
herself  he  was  mistaken  if  he  supposed  her  incapable  of 
generous  thoughts. 

She  heard  her  father  coming  into  the  house.  She  dried 
her  tears,  tried  to  recover  herself  hurriedly,  and  went  down 
to  him. 

“ You  want  your  tea,  father  ; how  your  forehead  burns  ! ” 
she  said  gently,  kissing  his  brow,  and  then  putting  her  cool 
hand  on  it. 

Mr.  Lyon  felt  a little  surprise  ; such  spontaneous  tender- 
ness was  not  quite  common  with  her  ; it  reminded  him  of 
her  mother. 

“ My  sweet  child,”  he  said  gratefully,  thinking  with  won- 
der of  the  treasures  still  left  in  our  fallen  nature. 

CHAPTER  XI. 

Truth  is  the  precious  harvest  of  the  earth. 

But  once,  when  harvest  waved  upon  a land, 

The  noisome  cankerworm  and  caterpillar, 

Locusts,  and  all  the  swarming  foul-born  broods, 

Fastened  upon  it  with  swift,  greedy  jaws. 

And  turned  the  harvest  into  pestilence, 

Until  men  said,  What  profits  it  to  sow? 

Felix  was  going  to  Sproxton  that  Sunday  afternoon.  He 
always  enjoyed  his  walk  to  that  outlying  hamlet  ; it  took  him 


ii  6 


FELIX  HOLT, 


(by  a short  cut)  through  a corner  of  Sir  Maximus  Debarry’s 
park  ; then  across  a piece  of  common,  broken  here  and  there 
into  red  ridges  below  dark  masses  of  furze  ; and  for  the  rest 
of  the  way  alongside  of  the  canal,  where  the  Sunday  peace- 
fulness that  seemed  to  rest  on  the  bordering  meadows  and 
pastures  was  hardly  broken  if  a horse  pulled  into  sight 
along  the  towing-path,  and  a boat,  with  a little  curl  of  blue 
smoke  issuing  from  its  tin  chimney,  came  slowly  gliding  be- 
hind. Felix  retained  something  of  his  boyish  impression 
that  the  days  in  a canal-boat  were  all  like  Sundays  ; but  the 
horse,  if  it  had  been  put  to  him,  would  probably  have  pre- 
ferred a more  Judaic  or  Scotch  rigor  with  regard  to  canal- 
boats,  or  at  least  that  the  Sunday  towing  should  be  done  by 
asses,  as  a lower  order. 

This  canal  was  only  a branch  of  the  grand  trunk,  and 
ended  among  the  coal-pits,  where  Felix,  crossing  a network 
of  black  tram-roads,  soon  came  to  his  destination — that 
public  institute  of  Sproxton,  known  to  its  frequenters  chiefly 
as  Chubb’s,  but  less  familiarly  as  the  Sugar  Loaf,  or  the  New 
Pits ; this  last  being  the  name  for  the  more  modern  and 
lively  nucleus  of  the  Sproxton  hamlet.  The  other  nucleus, 
known  as  the  Old  Pits,  also  supported  its  “ public,”  but  it 
had  something  of  the  forlorn  air  of  an  abandoned  capital  ; 
and  the  company  at  the  Blue  Cow  was  of  an  inferior  kind — 
equal,  of  course,  in  the  fundamental  attributes  of  humanity, 
such  as  desire  for  beer,  but  not  equal  in  ability  to  pay  for  it. 

When  Felix  arrived,  the  great  Chubb  was  standing  at  the 
door.  Mr.  Chubb  was  a remarkable  publican  ; none  of  your 
stock  Bonifaces,  red,  bloated,  jolly,  and  joking.  He  was 
thin  and  sallow,  and  was  never,  as  his  constant  guests  ob- 
served, seen  to  be  the  worse  (or  the  better)  for  liquor ; in- 
deed, as  among  soldiers  an  eminent  general  was  held  to  have 
a charmed  life,  Chubb  was  held  by  the  members  of  the  Bene- 
fit Club  to  have  a charmed  sobriety,  a vigilance  over  his  own 
interest  that  resisted  all  narcotics.  His  very  dreams,  as 
stated  by  himself,  had  a method  in  them  beyond  the  waking 
thoughts  of  other  men.  Pharaoh’s  dream,  he  observed,  was 
nothing  to  them  ; and,  as  lying  so  much  out  of  ordinary  ex- 
perience, they  were  held  particularly  suitable  for  narration 
on  Sunday  evenings,  when  the  listening  colliers,  well  washed 
and  in  their  best  coats,  shook  their  heads  with  a sense  of 
peculiar  edification  which  belongs  to  the  inexplicable.  Mr. 
Chubb’s  reasons  for  becoming  landlord  of  the  Sugar  Loaf, 
were  founded  on  the  severest  calculation.  Having  an  active 


THE  RADICAL. 


IIJ 

mind,  and  being  averse  to  bodily  labor,  he  had  thoroughly 
considered  what  calling  would  yield  him  the  best  livelihood 
with  the  least  possible  exertion,  and  in  that. sort  of  line  he 
had  seen  that  a “ public  ” amongst  miners  who  earned  high 
wages  was  a fine  opening.  He  had  prospered  according  to 
the  merits  of  such  judicious  calculation,  was  already  a forty- 
shilling freeholder,  and  was  conscious  of  a vote  for  the 
county.  He  was  not  one  of  those  mean-spirited  men  who 
found  the  franchise  embarrassing,  and  would  rather  have 
been  without  it  : he  regarded  his  vote  as  part  of  his  invest- 
ment, and  meant  to  make  the  best  of  it.  He  called  himself 
a straight-forward  man,  and  at  suitable  moments  expressed 
his  views  freely  ; in  fact,  he  was  known  to  have  one  funda- 
mental division  for  all  opinion — “ my  idee  ” and  “ humbug. ” 

When  Felix  approached,  Mr.  Chubb  was  standing,  as  usual, 
with  his  hands  nervously  busy  in  his  pockets,  his  eyes  glanc- 
ing around  with  a detective  expression  at  the  black  landscape, 
and  his  lipless  mouth  compressed,  yet  in  constant  movement. 
On  a superficial  view  it  might  be  supposed  that  so  eager- 
seeming  a personality  was  unsuited  to  the  publican’s  business; 
but  in  fact,  it  was  a great  provocative  to  drinking.  Like  the 
shrill  biting  talk  of  a vixenish  wife, it  would  have  compelled  you 
to  “ take  a little  something”  by  way  of  dulling  your  sensibility. 

Hitherto,  notwithstanding  Felix  drank  so  little  ale,  the 
publican  treated  him  with  high  civility.  The  coming  elec- 
tion was  a great  opportunity  for  applying  his  political  “idee,” 
which  was,  that  society  existed  for  the  sake  of  the  individual, 
and  that  the  name  of  that  individual  was  Chubb.  Now,  for 
a conjunction  of  absurd  circumstances  inconsistent  with  that 
idea,  it  happened  that  Sproxton  hereto  had  been  somewhat 
neglected  in  the  canvass.  The  head  member  of  the  company 
that  worked  the  mines  was  Mr.  Peter  Garstin,  and  the  same 
company  received  the  rent  from  the  Sugar  Loaf.  Hence, 
as  the  person  who  had  the  most  power  of  annoying  Mr. 
Chubb,  and  being  of  detriment  to  him,  Mr.  Garstin  was 
naturally  the  candidate  for  whom  he  had  reserved  his  vote. 
But  where  there  is  this  intention  of  ultimately  gratifying  a 
gentleman  by  voting  for  him  in  an  open  British  manner  on 
the  day  of  the  poll,  a man,  whether  Publican  or  Pharisee 
(Mr.  Chubb  used  this  generic  classification  of  mankind  as 
one  that  was  sanctioned  by  Scripture),  is  all  the  freer  in  his 
relation  with  those  deluded  persons  who  take  him  for  what 
he  is  not,  and  imagine  him  to  be  a waverer.  But  for  some 
time  opportunity  had  seemed  barren.  There  were  but  three 


n8 


FELIX  HOLT, 


dubious  votes  besides  Mr.  Chubb’s  in  the  small  district  of 
which  the  Sugar  Loaf  could  be  regarded  as  the  centre  of  in- 
telligence and  inspiration  : the  colliers,  of  course,  had  no 
votes,  and  did  not  need  political  conversion  ; consequently, 
the  interests  of  Sproxton  had  only  been  tacitly  cherished  in 
the  breasts  of  candidates.  But  ever  since  it  had  been  known 
that  a Radical  candidate  was  in  the  field,  that  in  consequence 
of  this  Mr.  Debarry  had  coalesced  with  Mr.  Garstin,  and 
that  Sir  James  Clement,  the  poor  baronet,  had  retired,  Mr. 
Chubb  had  been  occupied  with  the  most  ingenious  mental 
combinations  in  order  to  ascertain  what  possibilities  of  profit 
to  the  Sugar  Loaf  might  lie  in  this  altered  state  of  the  canvass. 

He  had  a cousin  in  another  county,  also  a publican,  but 
in  a larger  way,  and  resident  in  a borough,  and  from  him 
Mr.  Chubb  had  gathered  more  detailed  political  information 
than  he  could  find  in  the  Loamshire  newspapers.  He  was 
now  enlightened  enough  to  know  that  there  was  a way  of 
using  voteless  miners  and  navvies  at  nominations  and  elec- 
tions. He  approved  of  that ; it  entered  into  his  political 
“ idee”  ; and  indeed  he  would  have  been  for  extending  the 
franchise  to  this  class — at  least  in  Sproxton.  If  any  one 
had  observed  that  you  must  draw  a line  somewhere,  Mr. 
Chubb  would  have  concurred  at  once,  and  would  have  given 
permission  to  draw  it  at  a radius  of  two  miles  from  his  own  tap. 

From  the  first  Sunday  evening  when  Felix  had  appeared 
at  the  Sugar  Loaf,  Mr.  Chubb  had  made  up  his  mind  that 
this  ’cute  man  who  kept  himself  sober  was  an  electioneering 
agent.  That  he  was  hired  for  some  purpose  or  other  there 
was  not  a doubt;  a man  didn’t  come  and  drink  nothing  with- 
out a good  reason.  In  proportion  as  Felix’s  purpose  was 
not  obvious  to  Chubb’s  mind,  it  must  be  deep  ; and  this 
growing  conviction  had  even  led  the  publican  on  the  last 
Sunday  evening  privately  to  urge  his  mysterious  visitor  to 
let  a little  ale  be  chalked  up  for  him — it  was  of  no  conse- 
quence. Felix  knew  his  man,  and  had  taken  care  not  to 
betray  too  soon  that  his  real  object  was  so  to  win  the  ear  of 
the  best  fellows  about  him  as  to  induce  them  to  meet  him  on 
a Saturday  evening  in  the  room  where  Mr.  Lyon,  or  one  of 
his  deacons,  habitually  held  his  Wednesday  preachings. 
Only  women  and  children,  three  old  men,  a journeyman 
tailor,  and  a consumptive  youth,  attended  those  preachings; 
not  a collier  had  been  won  from  the  strong  ale  of  the  Sugar 
Loaf,  not  ^ven  a navvy  from  the  muddier  drink  of  the  Blue 
Cow.  Felix  was  sanguine;  he  saw  some  pleasant  faces  among 


THE  RADICAL. 


II9 

the  miners  when  they  were  washed  on  Sundays;  they  might 
be  taught  to  spend  their  wages  better.  At  all  events,  he 
was  going  to  try:  he  had  great  confidence  in  his  powers  of 
appeal,  and  it  was  quite  true  that  he  never  spoke  without 
arresting  attention.  There  was  nothing  better  than  a dame 
school  in  the  hamlet;  he  thought  that  if  he  could  move  the 
fathers,  whose  blackened  week-day  persons  arid  flannel  caps, 
ornamented  with  tallow  candles  by  way  of  plume,  were  a 
badge  of  hard  labor,  for  which  he  had  a more  sympathetic 
fibre  than  for  any  ribbon  in  the  button-hole — if  he  could 
move  these  men  to  save  something  from  their  drink  and 
pay  a school-master  for  their  boys,  a greater  service  would 
be  done  them  than  if  Mr.  Garstin  and  his  company  were 
persuaded  to  establish  a school. 

“ I’ll  lay  hold  of  them  by  their  fatherhood/'  said  Felix; 
“ I’ll  take  one  of  their  little  fellows  and  set  him  in  the  midst. 
Till  they  can  show  there’s  something  they  love  better  than 
swilling  themselves  with  ale,  extension  of  the  suffrage  can 
never  mean  anything  for  them  but  extension  of  boozing. 
One  must  begin  somewhere:  I’ll  begin  at  what  is  under  my 
nose.  I’ll  begin  at  Sproxton.  That’s  what  a man  would  do 
if  he  had  a red-hot  superstition.  Can’t  one  work  for  sober 
truth  as  hard  as  for  megrims  ? ” 

Felix  Holt  had  his  illusions,  like  other  young  men,  though 
they  were  not  of  a fashionable  sort;  referring  neither  to  the 
impression  his  costume  and  horsemanship  might  make  on 
beholders,  nor  to  the  ease  with  which  he  would  pay  the 
Jews  when  he  gave  a loose  to  his  talents  and  applied  himself 
to  work.  He  had  fixed  his  choice  on  a certain  Mike  Brindle 
(not  that  Brindle  was  his  real  name — each  collier  had  his 
sobriquet)  as  the  man  whom  he  would  induce  to  walk  part  of 
the  way  home  with  him  this  very  evening,  and  get  to  invite 
some  of  his  comrades  for  the  next  Saturday.  Brindle  was 
one  of  the  head  miners  : he  had  a bright  good-natured  face, 
and  had  given  especial  attention  to  certain  performances 
with  a magnet  which  Felix  carried  in  his  pocket. 

Mr.  Chubb,  who  had  also  his  illusions,  smiled  graciously 
as  the  enigmatic  customer  came^up  to  the  door-step. 

“ Well,  sir,  Sunday  seems  to  be  your  day:  I begin  to  look 
for  you  on  a Sunday  now.” 

“ Yes,  I’m  a workingman;  Sunday  is  my  holiday,’*  said 
Felix,  pausing  at  the  door  since  the  host  seemed  to  expect  this. 

“ Ah,  sir,  there’s  many  ways  of  working.  I look  at  it  you’re 
one  of  those  as  work  with  your  brains.  That’s  whatldo  myself.” 


120 


FELIX  HOLT, 


One  may  do  a good  deal  of  that  and  work  with  one’s 
hands  too.” 

“ Ah,  sir,”  said  Mr.  Chubb,  with  a certain  bitterness  in  his 
smile,  “ I’ve  that  sort  of  head  that  I’ve  often  wished  I was 
stupider.  I use  things  up,  sir  ; I see  into  things  a deal  too 
quick.  I eat  my  dinner,  as  you  may  say,  at  breakfast-time. 
That’s  why  I hardly  ever  smoke  a pipe.  No  sooner  do  1 
stick  a pipe  in  my  mouth  than  I puff  and  puff  till  it’s  gone 
before  other  folks'  are  well  lit  ; and  then,  where  am  I ? I 
might  as  well  have  let  it  alone.  In  this  world  it’s  better  not 
to  be  too  quick.  But  you  know  what  it  is,  sir.” 

“ Not  I,”  said  Felix,  rubbing  the  back  of  his  head,  with  a 
grimace.  “I  generally  feel  myself  rather  a blockhead. 
The  world’s  a largish  place,  and  I haven’t  turned  everything 
inside  out  yet.” 

“ Ah,  that's  your  deepness.  I think  we  understand  one 
another.  And  about  this  here  election,  I lay  two-  to  one  we 
should  agree  if  we  was  to  come  to  talk  about  it.” 

“ Ah  ! ” said  Felix,  with  an  air  of  caution. 

“You’re  none  of  a Tory,  eh,  sir?  You  won’t  go  to  vote 
for  Debarry  ? That  was  what  I said  at  the  very  first  go-off. 
Says  I,  he’s  no  Tory.  I think  I was  right,  sir — eh  ?” 
“Certainly;  I’m  no  Tory.” 

“No,  no,  you  don’t  catch  me  wrong  in  a hurry.  Well, 
between  you  and  me,  I care  no  more  for  the  Debarrys  than 
I care  for  Johnny  Groats.  I live  on  none  o’  their  land,  and 
not  a pot’s-worth  did  they  ever  send  to  the  Sugar  Loaf. 
I’m  not  frightened  at  the  Debarrys  : there’s  no  man  more  in- 
dependent than  me.  I’ll  plump  or  I’ll  split  for  them  as  treat 
me  the  handsomest  and  are  the  most  of  what  I call  gentle- 
men ; that’s  my  idee.  And  in  the  way  of  hatching  for  any 
man,  them  are  fools  that  don’t  employ  me.” 

We  mortals  sometimes  cut  a pitiable  figure  in  our  attempts 
at  display.  We  may  be  sure  of  our  own  merits,  yet  fatally 
ignorant  of  the  point  of  view  from  which  we  are  regarded  by 
our  neighbor.  Our  fine  patterns  in  tattooing  may  be  far  from 
throwing  him  into  a swoon  of  admiration,  though  we  turn  our- 
selves all  round  to  show  them.  Thus  it  was  with  Mr.  Chubb. 

“ Yes,”  said  Felix,  dryly  ; “ I should  think  there  are  some 
sorts  of  work  for  which  you  are  just  fitted.” 

“Ah,  you  see  that?  Well,  we  understand  one  another. 
You’re  no  Tory  ; no  more  am  I.  And  if  I’d  got  four  hands 
to  show  at  a nomination,  the  Debarrys  shouldn’t  have  one  of 
’em.  My  idee  is,  there's  a deal  too  much  of  their  scutchins 


THE  RADICAL. 


I 2 I 


and  their  moniments  in  Treby  Church.  What’s  their 
scutchins  mean  ? They’re  a sign  with  little  liquor  behind 
’em  ; that’s  how  I take  it.  There’s  nobody  can  give  account 
of  ’em  as  I ever  heard.” 

Mr.  Chubb  was  hindered  from  further  explaining  his 
views  as  to  the  historical  element  in  society  by  the  arrival  of 
new  guests,  who  approached  in  two  groups.  The  foremost 
group  consisted  of  well-known  colliers,  in  their  good  Sunday 
beavers  and  colored  handkerchiefs  serving  as  cravats,  with 
the  long  ends  floating.  The  second  group  was  a more  un- 
usual one,  and  caused  Mr.  Chubb  to  compress  his  mouth  and 
agitate  the  muscles  about  it  in  rather  an  excited  manner. 

First  came  a smartly-dressed  personage  on  horseback,  with 
a conspicuous  expansive  shirt-front  and  figured  satin  stock. 
He  was  a stout  man,  and  gave  a strong  sense  of  broadcloth. 
A wild  idea  shot  through  Mr.  Chubb’s  brain  ; could  this 
grand  visitor  be  Harold  Transome?  Excuse  him  : he  had 
been  given  to  understand  by  his  cousin  from  the  distant 
borough  that  a Radical  candidate  in  the  condescension  of 
canvassing  had  even  gone  the  length  of  eating  bread-and- 
treacle  with  the  children  of  an  honest  freeman,  and  declar- 
ing his  preference  for  that  simple  fare.  Mr.  Chubb’s  notion 
of  a Radical  was  that  he  was  a new  and  agreeable  kind  of 
lick-spittle  who  fawned  on  the  poor  instead  of  on  the  rich, 
and  so  was  likely  to  send  customers  to  a “public”  ; so  that 
he  argued  well  enough  from  the  premises  at  his  command. 

The  mounted  man  of  broadcloth  had  followers  : several 
shabby-looking  men,  and  Sproxton  boys  of  all  sizes,  whose 
curiosity  had  been  stimulated  by  unexpected  largesse.  A 
stranger  on  horseback  scattering  half-pence  on  a Sunday  was 
so  unprecedented  that  there  was  no  knowing  what  he  might 
do  next ; and  the  smallest  hindmost  fellows  in  sealskin  caps 
were  not  without  hope  that  an  entirely  new  order  of  things 
had  set  in. 

Everyone  waited  outside  for  the^stranger  to  dismount,  and 
Mr.  Chubb  advanced  to  take  the  bridle. 

“ Well,  Mr.  Chubb,”  were  the  first  words  when  the  great 
man  was  safely  out  of  the  saddle,  “ I’ve  often  heard  of  your 
fine  tap,  and  I’m  come  to  taste  it.” 

“Walk  in,  sir — pray  walk  in,”  said  Mr.  Chubb,  giving  the 
horse  to  the  stable-boy.  “ I shall  be  proud  to  draw  for  you. 
If  anybody’s  been  praising  me, I think  my  ale  will  back  him.” 

All  entered  in  the  rear  of  the  stranger  except  the  boys, 
who  peeped  in  at  the  window. 


122 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“Won  t you  please  to  walk  into  the  parlor,  sir,”  said  Mr. 
Chubb,  obsequiously. 

“ No,  no,  I’ll  sit  down  here.  This  is  what  I like  to  see,” 
said  the  stranger,  looking  round  at  the  colliers,  who  eyed 
him  rather  shyly — “a  bright  hearth  where  workingmen  can 
enjoy  themselves.  However,  Til  step  into  the  other  room  for 
three  minutes,  just  to  speak  half  a dozen  words  with  you.” 

Mr.  Chubb  threw  open  the  parlor  door,  and  then  stepping 
back,  took  the  opportunity  of  saying,  in  a low  tone,  to  Felix, 
“Do  you  know  this  gentleman?” 

“Not  I ; no.” 

Mr.  Chubb’s  opinion  of  Felix  Holt  sank  from  that 
moment.  The  parlor  door  was  closed,  but  no  one  sat  down 
or  ordered  beer. 

“ I say,  master,”  said  Mike  Brindle,  going  up  to  Felix, 
“don’t  you  think  that’s  one  o’  the  ’lection  men?” 

“Very  likely.” 

“I  heared  a chap  say  they’re  up  and  down  everywhere,” 
said  Brindle ; “ and  now’s  the  time,  they  say,  when  a man 
can  get  beer  for  nothing.” 

“Ay,  that’s  sin’  the  Reform,”  said  a big,  red-whiskered 
man,  called  Dredge.  “ That’s  brought  the  ’lections  and  the 
drink  into  these  parts  ; for  afore  that,  it  was  all  kep'  up  the 
Lord  knows  wheer.” 

“Well,  but  the  Reform’s  niver  come  anigh  Sprox’on,”  said 
a gray-haired  but  stalwart  man  called  Old  Sleek.  “I  don’t 
believe  nothing  about’n,  I don’t.” 

“ Don’t  you  ?”  said  Brindle,  with  some  contempt.  “ Well, 
I do.  There’s  folks  won’t  believe  beyond  the  end  o’  their 
own  pickaxes.  You  can’t  drive  nothing  into  ’em,  not  if  you 
split  their  skulls.  I know  for  certain  sure,  from  a chap  in 
the  cartin’  way,  as  he’s  got  money  and  drink  too,  only  for 
hollering.  Eh,  master,  what  do  you  say  ?”  Brindle  . ended, 
turning  with  some  deference  to  Felix. 

“Should  you  like  to  know  all  about  the  Reform?”  said 
Felix,  using  his  opportunity.  “ If  you  would,  I can  tell  you.” 

“Ay,  ay — tell’s ; you  know  I’ll  be  bound,”  said  several 
voices  at  once. 

“Ah,  but  it  will  take  some  little  time.  And  we  must  be 
quiet.  The  cleverest  of  you — those  who  are  looked  up  to  in 
the  Club — must  come  and  meet  me  at  Peggy  Button’s  cot- 
tage next  Saturday,  at  seven  o’clock,  after  dark.  And,  Brin- 
dle, you  must  bring  that  little  yellowr-haired  lad  of  yours. 
And  anybody  that’s  got  a little  boy — a very  little  fellow, 


THE  RADICAL. 


123 


who  won’t  understand  what  is  said — may  bring  him.  But 
you  must  keep  it  close,  you  know.  We  don’t  want  fools 
there.  But  everybody  who  hears  me  may  come.  I shall  be 
at  Peggy  Button’s.” 

“Why,  that’s  where  the  Wednesday  preachin'  is,”  said 
Dredge.  “I’ve  been  aforced  to  give  my  wife  a black  eye  to 
hinder  her  from  going  to  the  preachin’.  Lors-a-massy,  she 
thinks  she  knows  better  nor  me,  and  I can’t  make  head  nor 
tail  of  her  talk.” 

“Why  can’t  you  let  the  woman  alone  ? ” said  Brindle, with 
some  disgust.  “ I’d  be  ashamed  to  beat  a poor  crawling 
thing  ’cause  she  likes  preaching.” 

“ No  more  I did  beat  her  afore,  not  if  she  scrat’  me,”  said 
Dredge,  in  vindication  ; “ but  if  she  jabbers  at  me,  I can’t 
abide  it.  Howsomever,  I’ll  bring  my  Jack  to  Peggy’s  o’ 
Saturday.  His  mother  shall  wash  him.  He  is  but  four  year 
old, and  he’ll  swear  and  square  at  me  a good  un,iflsethim  on.” 

“There  you  go  blatherin’,”  said  Brindle,  intending  a mild 
rebuke. 

This  dialogue,  which  was  in  danger  of  becoming  too  per- 
sonal, was  interrupted  by  the  reopening  of  the  parlor  door, 
and  the  reappearance  of  the  impressive  stranger  with  Mr. 
Chubb,  whose  countenance  seemed  unusually  radiant. 

“Sit  you  down  here,  Mr.  Johnson,”  said  Chubb,  moving 
an  arm-chair.  “This  gentleman  is  kind  enough  to  treat  the 
company,”  he  added,  looking  round,  “ and  what’s  more,  he’ll 
take  a cup  with  ’em  ; and  I think  there’s  no  man  but  what’ll 
say  that’s  a honor.” 

The  company  had  nothing  equivalent  to  a “ hear,  hear,” 
at  command,  but  they  perhaps  felt  the  more,  as  they  seated 
themselves  with  an  expectation  unvented  by  utterance. 
There  was  a general  satisfactory  sense  that  the  hitherto 
shadowy  Reform  had  at  length  come  to  Sproxton  in  a good 
round  shape,  with  broadcloth  and  pockets.  Felix  did  not 
intend  to  accept  the  treating,  but  he  chose  to  stay  and  hear, 
taking  his  pint  as  usual. 

“Capital  ale,  capital  ale,”  said  Mr.  Johnson,  as  he  set 
down  his  glass,  speaking  in  a quick,  smooth  treble.  “ Now,” 
he  went  on,  with  a certain  pathos  in  his  voice,  looking  at 
Mr.  Chubb,  who  sat  opposite,  “ there’s  some  satisfaction  to 
me  in  finding  an  establishment  like  this  at  the  Pits.  For 
what  would  higher  wages  do  for  the  workingman  if  he 
couldn’t  get  a good  article  for  his  money  ? Why,  gentle- 
men ” — here  he  looked  round — “ I’ve  been  into  ale-houses 


124 


FELIX  HOLT, 


where  I’ve  seen  a fine  fellow  of  a miner  or  a stone-cutter 
come  in  and  hav^e  to  lay  down  money  for  beer  that  I should 
be  sorry  to  give  to  my  pigs  ! ” Here  Mr.  Johnson  leaned 
forward  with  squared  elbows,  hands  placed  on  his  knees, 
and  a defiant  shake  of  the  head. 

“ Aw,  like  at  the  Blue  Cow,”  fell  in  the  irrepressible 
Dredge,  in  a deep  bass  ; but  he  was  rebuked  by  a severe 
nudge  from  Brin  die. 

“Yes,  yes,  you  know  what  it  is,  my  friend,  ” said  Mr.  John- 
son, looking  at  Dredge,  and  restoring  his  self-satisfaction. 
“ But  it  won’t  last  much  longer,  that’s  one  good  thing.  Bad 
liquor  will  be  swept  away  with  other  bad  articles.  Trade 
will  prosper — and  what’s  trade  now  without  steam  ? and  what 
is  steam  without  coal  ? And  mark  you  this,  gentlemen — 
there’s  no  man  and  no  government  can  make  coal.” 

A loud  “Haw,  haw,  ” showed  that  this  fact  was  appreciated. 

“ Nor  freeston’,  nayther,”  said  a wide-mouthed  wiry  man 
called  Gills,  who  wished  for  an  exhaustive  treatment  of  the 
subject,  being  a stone-cutter. 

“ Nor  freestone,  as  you  say  ; else,  I think,  if  coal  could 
be  made  above-ground,  honest  fellows  who  are  the  pith  of 
our  population  would  not  have  to  bend  their  backs  and  sweat 
in  a pit  six  days  out  of  the  seven.  No,  no  ; I say,  as  this 
country  prospers  it  has  more  and  more  need  of  you,  sirs. 
It  can  do  without  a pack  of  lazy  lords  and  ladies,  but  it  can 
never  do  without  brave  colliers.  And  the  country  will  pros- 
per. I pledge  you  my  word,  sirs,  this  country  will  rise  to 
the  tip-top  of  everything,  and  there  isn’t  a man  in  it  but 
what  shall  have  his  joint  in  the  pot,  and  his  spare  money 
jingling  in  his  pocket,  if  we  only  exert  ourselves  to  send  the 
right  men  to  Parliament — men  who  will  speak  up  for  the  col- 
lier,and  the  stone-cutter, and  the  navvy  ” (Mr.  Johnson  waved 
his  hand  liberally),  “and  will  stand  no  nonsense.  This  is  a 
crisis,  and  we  must  exert  ourselves.  We’ve  got  Reform, 
gentlemen,  but  now  the  thing  is  to  make  Reform  work.  It’s 
a crisis — I pledge  you  my  word  it’s  a crisis.” 

Mr.  Johnson  threw  himself  back  as  if  from  the  concussion 
of  that  great  noun.  He  did  not  suppose  that  one  of  his 
audience  knew  what  a crisis  meant  ; but  he  had  large  ex- 
perience in  the  effect  of  uncomprehended  words  ; and  in 
this  case  the  colliers  were  thrown  into  a state  of  conviction 
concerning  they  did  not  know  what,  which  was  a fine  prep- 
aration for  “ hitting  out,”  or  any  other  act  carrying  a due 
sequence  to  such  a conviction. 


THE  RADICAL. 


I25 


Felix  felt  himself  in  danger  of  getting  into  a rage.  There 
is  hardly  any  mental  misery  worse  than  that  of  having  our 
own  serious  phrases,  our  own  rooted  beliefs,  caricatured  by 
a charlatan  or  a hireling.  He  began  to  feel  the  sharp  lower 
edge  of  his  tin  pint-measure, and  to  think  it  a tempting  missile. 

Mr.  Johnson  certainly  had  some  qualifications  as  an  ora- 
tor. After  this  impressive  pause  he  leaned  forward  again, 
and  said,  in  a lowered  tone,  looking  round — 

“ I think  you  all  know  the  good  news.” 

There  was  a movement  of  shoe-soles  on  the  quarried  floor, 
and  a scrape , of  some  chair  legs,  but  no  other  answer. 

“ The  good  news  I mean  is,  that  a first-rate  man,  Mr. 
Transome,  of  Transome  Court,  has  offered  himself  to  repre- 
sent you  in  Parliament,  sirs.  I say  you  in  particular,  for 
what  he  has  at  heart  is  the  welfare  of  the  workingman — of 
the  brave  fellows  that  wield  the  pickaxe,  and  the  saw,  and 
the  hammer.  He's  rich — has  more  money  than  Garstin — 
but  he  doesn’t  want  to  keep  it  to  himself.  What  he  wants 
is,  to  make  a good  use  of  it,  gentlemen.  He's  come  back 
from  foreign  parts  with  his  pockets  full  of  gold.  He  could 
buy  up  the  Debarrys,  if  they  were  worth  buying,  but  he’s  got 
something  better  to  do  with  his  money.  He  means  to  use 
it  for  the  good  of  the  workingmen  in  these  parts.  I know 
there  are  some  men  who  put  up  for  Parliament  and  talk  a 
little  too  big.  They  may  say  they  want  to  befriend  the  col- 
liers, for  example.  But  I should  like  to  put  a question  to 
them.  I should  like  to  ask  them,  ‘ What  colliers  ? ’ There 
are  colliers  up  at  Newcastle,  and  there  are  colliers  down  in 
Wales.  Will  it  do  any  good  to  honest  Tom,  who  is  hungry 
in  Sproxton,  to  hear  that  Jack  at  Newcastle  has  his  belly 
full  of  beef  and  pudding  ? ” 

“ It  ought  to  do  him  good,”  Felix  burst  in,  with  his  loud, 
abrupt  voice,  in  odd  contrast  with  glib  Mr.  Johnson’s.  “ If 
he  knows  it’s  a bad  thing  to  be  hungry  and  not  have  enough 
to  e.at,  he  ought  to  be  glad  that  another  fellow,  who  is  not 
idle,  is  not  suffering  in  the  same  way.” 

Every  one  was  startled.  The  audience  was  much  im- 
pressed with  the  grandeur,  the  knowledge,  and  the  power  of 
Mr.  Johnson.  His  brilliant  promises  confirmed^the  impres- 
sion that  Reform  had  at  length  reached  the  New  Pits  ; and 
Reform,  if  it  were  good  for  anything,  must  at  last  resolve  it- 
self into  spare  money — meaning  “ sport  ” and  drink,  and 
keeping  away  from  work  for  several  days  in  the  week.  These 
“ brave  ” men  of  Sproxton  liked  Felix  as  one  of  themselves, 


126 


FELIX  HOLT, 


only  much  more  knowing — :as  a workingman  who  had  seen 
many  distant  parts,  but  who  must  be  very  poor, since  he  never 
drank  more  than  a pint  or  so.  They  were  quite  inclined  to 
hear  what  he  had  got  to  say  on  another  occasion,  but  they 
were  rather  irritated  by  his  interruption  at  the  present  mo- 
ment. Mr.  Johnson  was  annoyed,  but  he  spoke  with  the  same 
glib  quietness  as  before, thoughwith  an  expression  of  contempt. 

“ I call  it  a poor-spirited  thing  to  take  up  a man’s  straight- 
forward words  and  twist  them.  What  I meant  to  say  was  plain 
enough — that  no  man  can  be  saved  from  starving  by  looking 
on  while  others  eat.  I think  that’s  common-sense,  eh,  sirs?  ” 

There  was  again  an  approving  “ Haw,  haw.”  To  hear 
anything  said,  and  understand  it,  was  a stimulus  that  had 
the  effect  of  wit.  Mr.  Chubb  cast  a suspicious  and  viper- 
ous glance  at  Felix,  who  felt  that  he  had  been  a simpleton 
for  his  pains. 

“ Well,  then,”  continued  Mr.  Johnson,  “ I suppose  I may 
go  on.  But  if  there  is  any  one  here  better  able  to  inform 
the  company  than  I am,  I give  way — I give  way.” 

“ Sir,”  said  Mr.  Chubb,  magisterially,  “ no  man  shall  take 
the  words  out  of  your  mouth  in  this  house.  And,”  he  added, 
looking  pointedly  at  Felix,  “ company  that’s  got  no  more 
orders  to  give,  and  wants  to  turn  up  rusty  to  them  that  has, 
had  better  be  making  room  than  filling  it.  Love  an’  ’armo- 
ny’s  the  word  on  our  Club’s  flag,  an’  love  an’  ’armony’s  the 
meaning  of  i The  Sugar  Loaf,  William  Chubb.’  Folks  of  a 
different  mind  had  better  seek  another  house  of  call.” 

“ Very  good,”  said  Felix,  laying  down  his  money  and 
taking  his  cap.  “I’m  going.”  He  saw  clearly  enough  that 
if  he  said  more,  there  would  be  a disturbance  which  could 
have  no  desirable  end. 

When  the  door  had  closed  behind  him,  Mr.  Johnson  said, 
“ What  is  that  person’s  name  ?” 

“ Does  anybody  know  it  ? ” said  Mr.  Chubb. 

A few  noes  were  heard. 

“I’ve  heard  him  speak  like  a downright  Reformer,  else  I 
should  have  looked  a little  sharper  after  him.  But  you  may 
see  he’s  nothing  partic’lar.” 

“ It  looks  rather  bad  that  no  one  knows  his  name,”  said 
Mr.  Johnson.  “ He’s  most  likely  a Tory  in  disguise — a Tory 
spy.  You  must  be  careful,  sirs,  of  men  who  come  to  you 
and  say  they’re  Radicals,  and  yet  do  nothing  for  you. 
They’ll  stuff  you  with  words — no  lack  of  words — but  words 
are  wind.  Now,  a man  like  Transome  comes  forward  and 


THE  RADICAL. 


127 


says  to  the  workingmen  of  this  country  : ‘ Here  I am,  ready 
to  serve  you  and  speak  for  you  in  Parliament,  and  to  get  the 
laws  made  all  right  for  you  ; and  in  the  meanwhile,  if  there’s 
any  of  you  who  are  my  neighbors  who  want  a day’s  holiday, 
or  a cup  to  drink  with  friends,  or  a copy  of  the  King’s  like- 
ness— why,  I’m  your  man.  I’m  not  a paper  handbill — all 
words  and  no  substance — nor  a man  with  land  and  nothing 
else  ; I’ve  got  bags  of  gold  as  well  as  land.’  I think  you 
know  what  I mean  by  the  King’s  likeness.” 

Here  Mr.  Johnson  took  a half-crown  out  of  his  pocket  and 
held  the  head  toward  the  company. 

“ Well,  sirs,  there  are  some  men  who  like  to  keep  this 
pretty  picture  a great  deal  too  much  to  themselves.  I don’t 
know  whether  I’m  right,  but  I think  I’ve  heard  of  such  a 
one  not  a hundred  miles  from  here.  I think  his  name  was 
Spratt,  and  he  managed  some  company’s  coal-pits.” 

“ Haw,  haw  ! Spratt — Spratt’s  his  name,”  was  rolled  forth 
to  an  accompaniment  of  scraping  shoe-soles. 

“ A screwing  fellow,  by  what  I understand — a domineering 
fellow — who  would  expect  men  to  do  as  he  liked  without  pay- 
ing them  for  it.  I think  there’s  not  an  honest  man  wouldn’t 
like  to  disappoint  such  an  upstart.” 

There  was  a murmur  which  was  interpreted  by  Mr.  Chubb. 
“ I’ll  answer  for  ’em,  sir.” 

“Now,  listen  to  me.  Here’s  Garstin  : he’s  one  of  the 
company  you  work  under.  What’s  Garstin  to  you  ? who 
sees  him  ? and  when  they  do  see  him  they  see  a thin  miserly 
fellow  who  keeps  his  pockets  buttoned.  He  calls  himself  a 
Whig,  yet  he’ll  split  votes  with  a Tory — he’ll  drive  with  the 
Debarrys.  Now,  gentlemen,  if  I said  I’d  got  a vote,  and 
anybody  asked  me  what  I should  do  with  it,  I should  say, 
4 I’ll  plump  for  Transome.’  You’ve  got  no  votes,  and  that’s 
a shame.  But  you  will  have  some  day,  if  such  men  as  Tran- 
some are  returned  ; and  then  you’ll  be  on  a level  with  the 
first  gentleman  in  the  land,  and  if  he  wants  to  sit  in  Parlia- 
ment, he  must  take  off  his  hat  and  ask  your  leave.  But 
though  you  haven’t  got  a vote  you  can  give  a cheer  for  the 
right  man,  and  Transome’s  not  a man  like  Garstin  ; if  you 
lost  a day’s  wages  by  giving  a cheer  for  Transome,  he’ll 
make  you  amends.  That’s  the  way  a man  who  has  no  vote 
can  serve  himself  and  his  country ; he  can  lift  up  his  hand 
and  shout  ‘ Transome  forever!’ — ‘hurray  for  Transome!’ 
Let  the  workingmen — let  the  colliers  and  navvies  and  stone- 
cutters, who  between  you  and  me  have  a good  deal  too  much 


128 


FELIX  HOLT, 


the  worst  of  it,  as  things  are  now — let  them  join  together  and 
give  their  hands  and  voices  for  the  right  man,  and  they’ll 
make  the  great  people  shake  in  their  shoes  a little  ; and  when 
you  shout  for  Transome,  remember  you  shout  for  more  wages, 
and  more  of  your  rights,  and  you  shout  to  get  rid  of  rats 
and  sprats  and  such  small  animals,  who  are  the  tools  the  rich 
make  use  of  to  squeeze  the  blood  out  of  the  poor  man.” 

“ I wish  there’d  be  a row — I’d  pommel  him,”  said  Dredge, 
who  was  generally  felt  to  be  speaking  to  the  question. 

“ No,  no,  my  friend — there  you’re  a little  wrong.  No 
pommelling — no  striking  first.  There  you  have  the  law  and 
the  constable  against  you.  A little  rolling  in  the  dust  and 
knocking  hats  off,  a little  pelting  with  soft  things  that’ll  stick 
and  not  bruise — all  that  doesn’t  spoil  the  fun.  If  a man  is 
to  speak  when  you  don’t  like  to  hear  him,  it  is  but  fair  you 
should  give  him  something  he  doesn’t  like  in  return.  And 
the  same  if  he’s  got  a vote  and  doesn’t  use  it  for  the  good  of 
the  country  ; I see  no  harm  in  splitting  his  coat  in  a quiet 
way.  A man  must  be  taught  what’s  right  if  he  doesn’t  know 
it.  But  no  kicks,  no  knocking  down,  no  pommelling.” 

“ It  ’ud  be  good  fun,  though,  if  so -be”  said  Old  Sleek, 
allowing  himself  an  imaginative  pleasure. 

“ Well,  well,  if  a Spratt  wants  you  to  say  Garstin,  it’s 
some  pleasure  to  think  you  can  say  Transome.  Now,  my 
notion  is  this.  You  are  men  who  can  put  two  and  two 
together — I don’t  know  a more  solid  lot  of  fellows  than  you 
are  ; and  what  I say  is,  let  the  honest  men  in  this  country 
who’ve  got  no  vote  show  themselves  in  a body  when  they 
have  got  the  chance.  Why,  sirs,  for  every  Tory  sneak  that’s 
got  a vote,  there’s  fifty-five  fellows  who  must  stand  by  and 
be  expected  to  hold  their  tongues.  But  I say  let  ’em  hiss 
the  sneaks,  let  ’em  groan  at  the  sneaks,  and  the  sneaks  will 
be  ashamed  of  themselves.  The  men  who’ve  got  votes  don’t 
know  how  to  use  them.  There’s  many  a fool  with  a vote, 
who  is  not  sure  in  his  mind  whether  he  shall  poll,  say  for 
Debarry,  or  Garstin,  or  Transome — whether  he’ll  plump  or 
whether  he’ll  split  ; a straw  will  turn  him.  Let  him  know 
your  mind  if  he  doesn’t  know  his  own.  What’s  the  reason 
Debarry  gets  returned  ? Because  people  are  frightened  at 
the  Debarrys.  What’s  that  to  you  ? You  don’t  care  for 
the  Debarrys.  If  people  are  frightened  at  the  Tories,  we’ll 
turn  round  and  frighten  them . You  know  what  a Tory  is — 
one  who  wants  to  drive  the  workingman  as  he’d  drive 
cattle.  That’s  what  a Tory  is  ; and  a Whig  is  no  better,  if 


THE  RADICAL. 


I29 


he’s  like  Garstin.  A Whig  wants  to  knock  the  Tory  down 
and  get  the  whip,  that’s  all.  But  Transome’s  neither  Whig 
nor  Tory  ; he’s  the  workingman’s  friend,  the  collier’s  friend, 
„ the  friend  of  the  honest  navvy.  And  if  he  gets  into  Parlia- 
ment, let  me  tell  you  it  will  be  better  for  you.  I don’t  say 
it  will  be  the  better  for  overlookers  and  screws,  and  rats  and 
sprats  ; but  it  will  be  the  better  for  every  good  fellow  who 
takes  his  pot  at  the  Sugar  Loaf.” 

Mr.  Johnson’s  exertions  for  the  political  education  of  the 
Sproxton  men  did  not  stop  here,  which  was  the  more  disin- 
terested in  him  as  he  did  not  expect  to  see  them  again,  and 
could  only  set  on  foot  an  organization  by  which  their  in- 
struction could  be  continued  without  him.  In  this  he  was 
quite  successful.  A man  known  among  the  “ butties  ” as 
Pack,  who  had  already  been  mentioned  by  Mr.  Chubb,  pres- 
ently joined  the  party,  and  had  a private  audience  of  Mr. 
Johnson,  that  he  might  be  instituted  as  the  “ shepherd  ” of 
this  new  flock. 

“ That’s  a right  down  genelman,”  said  Pack,  as  he  took 
the  seat  vacated  by  the  orator,  who  had  ridden  away. 

“ What’s  his  trade,  think  you  ? ” said  Gills,  the  wiry  stone- 
cutter. 

“ Trade  ? ” said  Mr.  Chubb.  “ He  one  of  the  top  sawyers 
of  the  country.  He  works  with  his  head,  you  may  see  that.” 

“ Let’s  have  our  pipes,  then,”  said  Old  Sleek  ; “ I’m  pretty 
well  tired  o’  jaw.” 

“ So  am  I,”  said  Dredge.  “It’s  wriggling  work — like  fol- 
lering  a stoat.  It  makes  a man  dry.  I’d  as  lief  hear  preach- 
ing, on’y  there’s  naught  to  be  got  by’t.  I shouldn’t  know 
which  end  I stood  on  if  it  wasn’t  for  the  tickets  and  the 
treatin’.” 

CHAPTER  XII, 

“ Oh,  sir,  ’twas  that  mixture  of  spite  and  over-fed  merriment]  which  passes  for 
humor  with  the  vulgar.  In  their  fun,  they  have  much  resemblance  to  a turkey-cock. 
It  has  a cruel  beak,  and  a silly  iteration  of  ugly  sounds;  it  spreads  its  tail  in  self- 
glorification,  but  shows  you  the  wrong  side  of  the  ornament — liking  admiration,  but 
knowing  not  what  is  admirable. ” 

This  Sunday  evening,  which  promised  to  be  so  memorable 
in  the  experience  of  the  Sproxton  miners,  had  its  drama  also 
for  those  unsatisfactory  objects  to  Mr.  Johnson’s  moral  sense, 
the  Debarrys.  Certain  incidents  occurring  at  Treby  Manor 
caused  an  excitement  there  which  spread  from  the  dining- 
room to  the  stables  ; but  no  one  underwent  such  agitating 
transitions  of  feeling  as  Mr.  Scales.  At  six  o’clock  that 


I3° 


FELIX  HOLT, 


superior  butler  was  chuckling  in  triumph  at  having  played  a 
fine  and  original  practical  joke  on  his  rival,  Mr.  Christian. 
Some  two  hours  after  that  time  he  was  frightened,  sorry,  and 
even  meek  ; he  was  on  the  brink  of  a humiliating  confession  ; 
his  cheeks  were  almost  livid  ; his  hair  was  flattened  for  want 
of  due  attention  from  his  fingers  ; and  the  fine  roll  of  his 
whiskers,  which  was  too  firm  to  give  way,  seemed  only  a sad 
reminiscence  of  past  splendor  and  felicity.  His  sorrow  came 
about  in  this  wise. 

After  service  on  that  Sunday  morning,  Mr.  Philip  Debarry 
had  left  the  rest  of  the  family  to  go  home  in  the  carriage, 
and  had  remained  at  the  rectory  to  lunch  with  his  uncle 
Augustus,  that  he  might  consult  him  touching  some  letters 
of  importance.  He  had  returned  the  letters  to  his  pocket- 
book  but  had  not  returned  the  book  to  his  pocket,  and  he 
finally  walked  away  leaving  the  enclosure  of  private  papers 
and  bank-notes  on  his  uncle’s  escritoire.  After  his  arrival 
at  home  he  was  reminded  of  his  omission,  and  immediately 
dispatched  Christian  with  a note  begging  his  uncle  to  seal 
up  the  pocket-book  and  send  it  by  the  bearer.  This  com- 
mission, which  was  given  between  three  and  four  o’clock, 
happened  to  be  very  unwelcome  to  the  courier.  The  fact 
was  that  Mr.  Christian,  who  had  been  remarkable  through 
life  for  that  power  of  adapting  himself  to  circumstances  which 
enables  a man  to  fall  safely  on  all-fours  in  the  most  hurried 
expulsions  and  escapes,  was  not  exempt  from  bodily  suffer- 
ing— a circumstance  to  which  there  is  no  known  way  of 
adapting  one’s  self  so  as  to  be  perfectly  comfortable  under 
it,  or  to  push  it  off  on  to  other  people’s  shoulders.  He  did 
what  he  could  : he  took  doses  of  opium  when  he  had  an 
access  of  nervous  pains,  and  he  consoled  himself  as  to  future 
possibilities  by  thinking  that  if  the  pains  ever  became  intol- 
erably frequent,  a considerable  increase  in  the  dose  might 
put  an  end  to  them  altogether.  He  was  neither  Cato  nor 
Hamlet,  and  though  he  had  learned  their  soliloquies  at  his 
first  boarding-school,  he  would  probably  have  increased  his 
dose  without  reciting  those  master-pieces.  Next  to  the  pain 
itself  he  disliked  that  any  one  should  know  of  it : defective 
health  diminished  a man’s  market  value;  he  did  not  like  to 
be  the  object  of  the  sort  of  pity  he  himself  gave  to  a poor 
devil  who  was  forced  to  make  a wry  face  or  “give  in”  altogether. 

He  had  felt  it  expedient  to  take  a slight  dose  this  after- 
noon, and  still  he  was  not  altogether  relieved  at  the  time  he 
set  off  for  the  rectory.  On  returning  with  the  valuable  case 


THE  RADICAL. 


I3I 

safely  deposited  in  his  hind  pocket,  he  felt  increasing  bodily 
uneasiness,  and  took  another  dose.  Thinking  it  likely  that 
he  looked  rather  pitiable,  he  chose  not  to  proceed  to  the 
house  by  the  carriage-road.  The  servants  often  walked  in 
the  park  on  a Sunday,  and  he  wished  to  avoid  any  meeting. 
He  would  make  a circuit,  get  into  the  house  privately,  and 
after  delivering  his  packet  to  Mr.  Debarry,  shut  himself  up 
till  the  ringing  of  the  half-hour  bell.  But  when  he  reached 
an  elbowed  seat  under  some  sycamores,  he  felt  so  ill  at  ease 
that  he  yielded  to  the  temptation  of  throwing  himself  on  it 
to  rest  a little.  He  looked  at  his  watch  : it  was  but  five  ; he 
had  done  his  errand  quickly  hitherto,  and  Mr.  Debarry  had 
not  urged  haste.  But  in  less  than  ten  minutes  he  was  in  a 
sound  sleep.  Certain  conditions  of  his  system  had  deter- 
mined a stronger  effect  than  usual  from  the  opium. 

As  he  had  expected,  there  were  servants  strolling  in  the 
park,  but  they  did  not  all  choose  the  most  frequented  part. 
Mr.  Scales,  in  pursuit  of  a light  flirtation  with  the  younger 
lady’s  maid,  had  preferred  a more  sequestered  walk  in  the 
company  of  that  agreeable  nymph.  And  it  happened  to  be 
this  pair,  of  all  others,  who  alighted  on  the  sleeping  Chris- 
tian— -a  sight  which  at  the  very  first  moment  caused  Mr. 
Scales  a vague  pleasure  as  at  an  incident  that  must  lead  to 
something  clever  on  his  part.  To  play  a trick,  and  make 
some  one  or  other  look  foolish,  was  held  the  most  pointed 
form  of  wit  throughout  the  back  regions  of  the  Manor,  and 
served  as  a constant  substitute  for  theatrical  entertainment: 
what  the  farce  wanted  in  costume  or  “ make  up  ” it  gained 
in  the  reality  of  the  mortification  which  excited  the  general 
laughter.  And  lo  ! here  was  the  offensive,  the  exasperat- 
ingly  cool  and  superior  Christian,  caught  comparatively 
helpless,  with  his  head  hanging  on  his  shoulder,  and  one 
coat-tail  hanging  out  heavily  below  the  elbow  of  the  rustic 
seat.  It  was  this  coat-tail  which  served  as  a suggestion  to 
Mr.  Scales’s  genius.  Putting  his  finger  up  in  warning  to 
Mrs.  Cherry,  and  saying,  “ Hush — be  quiet — I see  a fine  bit 
of  fun  ” — he  took  a knife  from  his  pocket,  stepped  behind 
the  unconscious  Christian,  and  quickly  cut  off  the  pendent 
coat-tail.  Scales  knew  nothing  of  the  errand  to  the  rectory  ; 
and  as  he  noticed  that  there  was  something  in  the  pocket, 
thought  it  was  probably  a large  cigar-case.  So  much  the  better 
— he  had  no  time  to  pause.  He  threw  the  coat-tail  as  far  as 
he  could,  and  noticed  that  it  fell  among  the  elms  under 
which  they  had  been  walking.  Then,  beckoning  to  Mrs. 


FELIX  HOLT, 


*32 

Cherry,  he  hurried  away  with  her  toward  the  more  open 
part  of  the  park,  not  daring  to  explode  in  laughter  until  it 
was  safe  from  the  chance  of  waking  the  sleeper.  And  then 
the  vision  of  the  graceful,  well-appointed  Mr.  Christian,  who 
sneered  at  Scales  about  his  “ get  up,”  having  to  walk  back 
to  the  house  with  only  one  tail  to  his  coat,  was  a source  of 
so  much  enjoyment  to  the  butler,  that  the  fair  Cherry  began 
to  be  quite  jealous  of  the  joke.  Still  she  admitted  that  it 
really  was  funny,  tittered  intermittently,  and  pledged  herself 
to  secrecy.  Mt.  Scales  explained  to  her  that  Christian  would 
try  to  creep  in  unobserved, but  that  this  must  be  made  impossi- 
ble; and  he  requested  her  to  imagine  the  figure  this  interloping 
fellow  would  cut  when  everybody  was  asking  what  had  hap- 
pened. “ Hallo,  Christian  ! where’s  your  coat  tail  ? ” would 
become  a proverb  at  the  Manor,  where  jokes  kept  remarka- 
bly well  without  the  aid  of  salt ; and  Mr.  Christian’s  comb 
would  be  cut  so  effectually  that  it  would  take  a long  time  to 
grow  again.  Exit  Scales,  laughing,  and  presenting  a fine 
example  of  dramatic  irony  to  any  one  in  the  secret  of  Fate. 

When  Christian  awoke,  he  was  shocked  to  find  himself  in 
the  twilight.  He  started  up,  shook  himself,  missed  some- 
thing, and  soon  became  aware  what  it  was  he  missed.  He 
did  not  doubt  that  he  had  been  robbed, and  heat  once  fore- 
saw that  the  consequences  would  be  highly  unpleasant.  In 
no  way  could  the  cause  of  the  accident  be  so  represented  to 
Mr.  Philip  Debarry  as  to  prevent  him  from  viewing  his 
hitherto  unimpeachable  factotum  in  a new  and  unfavorable 
light.  And  though  Mr.  Christian  did  not  regard  his  pres- 
ent position  as  brilliant,  he  did  not  see  his  way  to  anything 
better.  A man  nearly  fifty  who  is  not  always  quite  well  is 
seldom  ardently  hopeful  : he  is  aware  that  this  is  a world  in 
which  merit  is  often  overlooked.  With  the  idea  of  robbery 
in  full  possession  of  his  mind,  to  peer  about  and  search  in 
the  dimness,  even  if  it  had  occurred  to  him,  would  have 
seemed  a preposterous  waste  of  time  and  energy.  He  knew 
it  was  likely  that  Mr.  Debarry’s  pocket-book  had  important 
and  valuable  contents,  and  that  he  should  deepen  his  offence 
by  deferring  his  announcement  of  the  unfortunate  fact.  He 
hastened  back  to  the  house,  relieved  by  the  obscurity  from 
that  mortification  of  his  vanity  on  which  the  butler  had 
counted.  Indeed,  to  Scales  himself  the  affair  had  already 
begun  to  appear  less  thoroughly  jocose  than  he  had  antici- 
pated. For  he  observed  that  Christian’s  non-appearance 
before  dinner  had  caused  Mr.  Debarry  some  consternation  ; 


THE  RADICAL. 


133 


and  he  had  gathered  that  the  courier  had  been  sent  on  a 
commission  to  the  rectory.  “ My  uncle  must  have  detained 
him  for  some  reason  or  other, ” he  heard  Mr.  Philip  say  ; 
“but  it  is  odd.  If  he  were  less  trusty  about  commissions, or 
had  ever  seemed  to  drink  too  much,  I should  be  uneasy/’ 
Altogether  the  affair  was  not  taking  the  turn  Mr.  Scales  had 
intended.  At  last,  when  dinner  had  been  removed,  and  the 
butler’s  chief  duties  were  at  an  end,  it  was  understood  that 
Christian  had  entered  without  his  coat  tail,  looking  serious 
and  even  agitated  ; that  he  had  asked  leave  at  once  to  speak 
to  Mr.  Debarry,  and  that  he  was  even  then  in  parley  with 
the  gentleman  in  the  dining-room.  Scales  was  in  alarm  ; it 
must  have  been  some  property  of  Mr.  Debarry’s  that  had 
weighted  the  pocket.  He  took  a lantern,  got  a groom  to  ac- 
company him  with  another  lantern,  and  with  the  utmost 
practical  speed  reached  the  fatal  spot  in  the  park.  He  searched 
under  the  elms — he  was  certain  that  the  pocket  had  fallen 
there — and  he  found  the  pocket;  but  he  found  it  empty, and, 
in  spite  of  further  search,  did  not  find  the  contents,  though 
he  had  first  consoled  himself  with  thinking  that  they  had 
fallen  out,  and  would  be  lying  not  far  off.  He  returned  with 
the  lanterns  and  the  coat  tail  and  a most  uncomfortable 
consciousness  in  that  great  seat  of  a butler’s  emotion,  the 
stomach.  He  had  no  sooner  re-entered  than  he  was  met 
by  Mrs.  Cherry,  pale  and  anxious,  who  drew  him  aside  to 
say  that  if  he  didn’t  tell  everything  she  would  ; that  the 
constables  were  to  be  sent  for;  that  there  had  been  no  end  of 
bank-notes  and  letters  and  things  in  Mr.  Debarry’s  pocket- 
book,  which  Christian  was  carrying  in  that  very  pocket 
Scales  had  cut  off  ; that  the  rector  was  sent  for,  the  constable 
was  coming,  and  they  should  all  be  hanged.  Mr.  Scales’s 
own  intellect  was  anything  but  clear  as  to  the  possible  issues. 
Crest-fallen, and  with  the  coat-tail  in  his  hands  as  an  attesta- 
tion that  he  was  innocent  of  anything  more  than  a joke,  he 
went  and  made  his  confession.  His  story  relieved  Christian 
a little,  but  did  not  relieve  Mr.  Debarry,  who  was  more  an- 
noyed at  the  loss  of  the  letters,  and  the  chance  of  their  get- 
ting into  hands  that  might  make  use  of  them,  than  at 
the  loss  of  the  bank-notes.  Nothing  could  be  done  for  the 
present,  but  that  the  rector,  who  was  a magistrate,  should  in- 
struct the  constables,  and  that  the  spot  in  the  park  indicated  by 
Scales  should  again  be  carefully  searched.  This  was  done, 
but  in  vain  ; and  many  of  the  family  at  the  Manor  had  dis- 
turbed sleep  that  night. 


134 


FELIX  HOLT, 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

Give  sorrow  leave  awhile,  to  tutor  me 
To  this  submission.” — Richard  II. 

Meanwhile  Felix  Holt  had  been  making  his  way  back 
from  Sproxton  to  Treby  in  some  irritation  and  bitterness  of 
spirit.  For  a little  while  he  walked  slowly  along  the  direct 
road,  hoping  that  Mr.  Johnson  would  overtake  him,  in  which 
case  he  would  have  the  pleasure  of  quarrelling  with  him,  and 
telling  him  what  he  thought  of  his  intentions  in  coming  to 
cant  at  the  Sugar  Loaf.  But  he  presently  checked  himself  in 
this  folly  and  turned  off  again  toward  the  canal,  that  he  might 
avoid  the  temptation  of  getting  into  a passion  to  no  purpose. 

“ Where’s  the  good,”  he  thought,  “ of  pulling  at  such  a 
tangled  skein  as  this  electioneering  trickery  ? As  long  as 
three-fourths  of  the  men  in  this  country  see  nothing  in  an 
election  but  self-interest,  and  nothing  in  self-interest  but 
some  form  of  greed,  one  might  as  well  try  to  purify  the  pro- 
ceedings of  the  fishes,  and  say  to  a hungry  cod-fish — ‘ My 
good  friend,  abstain  ; don’t  goggle  your  eyes  so,  or  show  such 
a stupid  gluttonous  mouth,  or  think  the  little  fishes  are  worth 
nothing  except  in  relation  to  your  own  inside/  He’d  be 
open  to  no  argument  short  of  crimping  him.  I should  get 
into  a rage  with  this  fellow,  and  perhaps  end  by  thrashing 
him.  There’s  some  reason  in  me  as  long  as  I keep  my  tem- 
per, but  my  rash  humor  is  drunkenness  without  wine.  I 
shouldn’t  wonder  if  he  upsets  all  my  plans  with  these  col- 
liers. Of  course  he’s  going  to  treat  them  for  the  sake  of  get- 
ting up  a posse  at  the  nomination  and  speechifyings.  They’ll 
drink  double,  and  never  come  near  me  on  a Saturday  even- 
ing. I don’t  know  what  sort  of  man  Transome  really  is. 
It’s  no  use  my  speaking  to  anybody  else,  but  if  I could  get 
at  him,  he  might  put  a veto  on  this  thing.  Though,  when 
once  the  men  have  been  promised  and  set  a-going,  the  mis- 
chief is  likely  to  be  past  mending.  Hang  the  Liberal  codfish  ! 
I shouldn’t  have  minded  so  much  if  he’d  been  a Tory  ! ” 

Felix  went  along  in  the  twilight  struggling  in  this  way  with 
the  intricacies  of  life,  which  would  certainly  be  greatly  sim- 
plified if  corrupt  practices  were  the  invariable  mark  of  wrong 
opinions.  When  he  had  crossed  the  common  and  had  en- 
tered the  park,  the  overshadowing  trees  deepened  the  gray 
gloom  of  the  evening  ; it  was  useless  to  try  and  keep  the 
blind  path,  and  he  could  only  be  careful  that  his  steps 
should  be  bent  in  the  direction  of  the  park  gate.  He  was 
striding  along  rapidly  now,  whistling  “ Bannockburn  ” in  a 


THE  RADICAL. 


i3S 


subdued  way  as  an  accompaniment  to  his  inward  discussion, 
when  something  smooth  and  soft  on  which  his  foot  alighted 
arrested  him  with  an  unpleasant  startling  sensation,  and 
made  him  stoop  to  examine  the  object  he  was  treading  on. 
He  found  it  to  be  a large  leather  pocket-book  swelled  by  its 
contents,  and  fastened  with  a sealed  ribbon  as  well  as  a 
clasp.  In  stooping  he  saw  about  a yard  off  something  whit- 
ish and  square  lying  on  the  dark  grass.  This  was  an  orna- 
mental note-book  of  pale  leather  stamped  with  gold.  Ap- 
parently it  had  burst  open  in  falling,  and  out  of  the  pocket 
formed  by  the  cover,  there  protruded  a small  gold  chain 
about  four  inches  long,  with  various  seals  and  other  trifles 
attached  to  it  by  a ring  at  the  end.  Felix  thrust  the  chain 
back,  and  finding  that  the  clasp  of  the  note-book  was 
broken,  he  closed  it  and  thrust  it  into  his  side-pocket,  walk- 
ing along  under  some  annoyance  that  fortune  had  made  him 
the  finder  of  articles  belonging  most  probably  to  one  of  the 
family  at  Treby  Manor.  He  was  much  too  proud  a man  to 
like  any  contact  with  the  aristocracy,  and  he  could  still  less 
endure  coming  within  speech  of  their  servants.  Some  plan 
must  be  devised  by  which  he  could  avoid  carrying  these 
things  up  to  the  Manor  himself  : he  thought  at  first  of  leav- 
ing them  at  the  lodge,  but  he  had  a scruple  against  placing 
property,  of  which  the  ownership  was  after  all  uncertain,  in 
the  hands  of  persons  unknown  to  him.  It  was  possible  that 
the  large  pocket-book  contained  papers  of  high  importance, 
and  that  it  did  not  belong  to  any  of  the  Debarry  family.  He 
resolved  at  last  to  carry  his  findings  to  Mr.  Lyon,  who 
would  perhaps  be  good-natured  enough  to  save  him  from 
the  necessary  transactions  with  the  people  at  the  Manor  by 
undertaking  those  transactions  himself.  With  this  deter- 
mination he  walked  straight  to  Malthouse  Yard,  and  waited 
outside  the  chapel  until  the  congregation  was.  dispersing, 
when  he  passed  along  the  aisle  to  the  vestry  in  order  to 
speak  to  the  minister  in  private. 

But  Mr.  Lyon  was  not  alone  when  Felix  entered.  Mr.  Nutt- 
wood, the  grocer, who  was  one  of  the  deacons,  was  complaining 
to  him  about  the  obstinate  demeanor  of  the  singers,  who  had 
declined  to  change  the  tunes  in  accordance  with  a change  in 
the  selection  of  hymns,  and  had  stretched  short  metre  into  long 
out  of  pure  wilfulness  and  defiance,  irreverently  adapting  the 
most  sacred  monosyllables  to  a multitude  of  quavers,  arrang- 
ed, it  was  to  be  feared,  by  some  musician  who  was  inspired 
by  conceit  rather  than  by  the  true  spirit  of  psalmody. 


136 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ Come  in,  my  friend,”  said  Mr.  Lyon,  smiling  at  Felix, 
and  then  continuing  in  a faint  voice,  while  he  wiped  the 
perspiration  from  his  brow  and  bald  crown,  “ Brother  Nutt- 
wood,  we  must  be  content  to  carry  a thorn  in  our  sides 
while  the  necessities  of  our  imperfect  state  demand  that 
there  should  be  a body  set  apart  and  called  a choir,  whose 
special  office  it  is  to  lead  the  singing,  not  because  they  are 
more  disposed  to  the  devout  uplifting  of  praise,  but  because 
they  are  endowed  with  better  vocal  organs,  and  have  attained 
more  of  the  musician’s  art.  For  all  office,  unless  it  be 
accompanied  by  peculiar  grace,  becomes,  as  it  were,  a dis- 
eased organ,  seeking  to  make  itself  too  much  of  a centre. 
Singers,  specially  so  called,  are,  it  must  be  confessed,  an 
anomaly  among  us  who  seek  to  reduce  the  Church  to  its 
primitive  simplicity,  and  to  cast  away  all  that  may  obstruct 
the  direct  communion  of  spirit  with  spirit.” 

il  They  are  so  headstrong,”  said  Mr.  Nuttwood,  in  a tone 
of  sad  perplexity,  “ that  if  we  dealt  not  warily  with  them 
they  might  end  in  dividing  the  church,  even  now  that  we 
have  had  the  chapel  enlarged.  Brother  Kemp  would  side 
with  them,  and  draw  the  half  part  of  the  members  after  him. 
I cannot  but  think  it  a snare  when  a professing  Christian 
has  a bass  voice  like  Brother  Kemp’s.  It  makes  him  desire 
to  be  heard  of  men ; but  the  weaker  song  of  the  humble 
may  have  more  power  in  the  ear  of  God.” 

“ Do  you  think  it  any  better  vanity  to  flatter  yourself  that 
God  likes  to  hear  you,  though  men  don’t?”  said  Felix,  with 
unwarrantable  bluntness. 

The  civil  grocer  was  prepared  to  be  scandalized  by  any- 
thing that  came  from  Felix.  In  common  with  many  hearers 
in  Malthouse  Yard,  he  already  felt  an  objection  to  a young 
man  who  was  notorious  for  having  interfered  in  a question 
of  wholesale  and  retail,  which  should  have  been  left  to 
Providence.  Old  Mr.  Holt,  being  a church  member,  had 
probably  had  “ leadings”  which  were  more  to  be  relied  on 
than  his  son’s#boasted  knowledge.  In  any  case,  a little  vis- 
ceral disturbance  and  inward  chastisement  to  the  consumers 
of  questionable  medicines  would  tend  less  to  obscure  the 
divine  glory  than  a show  of  punctilious  morality  in  one  who 
was  not  a “ professor.”  Besides,  how  was  it  to  be  known 
that  the  medicines  would  not  be  blessed,  if  taken  with  due 
trust  in  a higher  influence  ? A Christian  must  consider  not 
the  medicines  alone  in  their  relation  to  our  frail  bodies 
(which  are  du.u),  but  the  medicines  with  Omnipotence  be- 


THE  RADICAL. 


137 


hind  them.  Hence  a pious  vendor  will  look  for  “ leadings,” 
and  he  is  likely  to  find  them  in  the  cessation  of  demand  and 
the  disproportion  of  expenses  and  returns.  The  grocer  was 
thus  on  his  guard  against  the  presumptuous  disputant. 

Mr.  Lyon  may  understand  you,  sir,”  he  replied.  “He  seems 
to  be  fond  of  your  conversation.  But  you  have  too  much  of 
the  pride  of  human  learning  for  me.  I follow  no  new  lights.” 
“ Then  follow  an  old  one,”  said  Felix,  mischievously  dis- 
posed toward  a sleek  tradesman.  “ Follow  the  light  of  the 
old-fashioned  Presbyterians  that  I’ve  heard  sing  at  Glasgow. 
The  preacher  gives  out  the  psalm,  and  then  everybody  sings 
a different  tune,  as  it  happens  to  turn  up  in  their  throats. 
It’s  a domineering  thing  to  set  a tune  and  expect  everybody 
else  to  follow  it.  It’s  a denial  of  private  judgment.” 

“ Hush,  hush,  my  young  friend,”  said  Mr.  Lyon,  hurt  by 
this  levity,  which  glanced  at  himself  as  well  as  at  the  deacon. 

Play  not  with  paradoxes.  That  caustic  which  you  handle 
in  order  to  scorch  others,  may  happen  to  sear  your  own  fin- 
gers and  make  them  dead  to  the  quality  of  things.  ’Tis 
difficult  enough  to  see  our  way  and  keep  our  torch  steady  in 
this  dim  labyrinth  : to  whirl  the  torch  and  dazzle  the  eyes 
of  our  fellovy-seekers  is  a poor  daring,  and  may  end  in  total 
darkness.  You  yourself  are  a lover  of  freedom,  and  a bold 
rebel  against  usurping  authority.  But  the  right  to  rebellion 
is  the  right  to  seek  a higher  rule,  and  not  to  wander  in  mere 
lawlessness.  Wherefore,  I beseech  you,  seem  not  to  say  that 
liberty  is  license.  And  I apprehend— though  I am  not  en- 
dowed with  an  ear  to  seize  those  earthly  harmonies,  which 
to  some  devout  souls  have  seemed,  as  it  were,  the  broken 
echoes  of  the  heavenly  choir — I apprehend  that  there  is  a 
law  in  music,  disobedience  whereunto  would  bring  us  in  our 
singing  to  the  level  of  shrieking  maniacs  or  howling  beasts  : 
so  that  herein  we  are  well  instructed  how  true  liberty  can  be 
nought  but  the  transfer  of  obedience  from  the  will  of  one  or 
of  a few  men  to  that  will  which  is  the  norm  or  rule  for  all 
men.  And  though  the  transfer  may  sometimes  be  but  an 
erroneous  direction  of  search,  yet  is  the  search  good  and 
necessary  to  the  ultimate  finding.  And  even  as  in  music, 
where  all  obey  and  concur  to  one  end,  so  that  each  has  the  joy 
of  contributing  to  a whole  whereby  he  is  ravished  and  lifted 
up  into  the  courts  of  heaven,  so  will  it  be  in  that  crowning 
time  of  the  millennial  reign, when  our  daily  prayer  will  be  ful- 
filled, and  one  law  shall  be  written  on  all  hearts,  and  be  the 
very  structure  of  all  thought, and  be  the  principle  of  all  action,” 


FELIX  HOLT, 


138 

Tired,  even  exhausted,  as  the  minister  had  been  when 
Felix  Holt  entered,  the  gathering  excitement  of  speech  gave 
more  and  more  energy  to  his  voice  and  manner  ; he  walked 
away  from  the  vestry  table,  he  paused,  and  came  back  to  it; 
he  walked  away  again,  then  came  back,  and  ended  with  his 
deepest  toned  largo,  keeping  his  hands  clasped  behind  him, 
while  his  brown  eyes  were  bright  with  the  lasting  youthful- 
ness of  enthusiastic  thought  and  love.  But  to  any  one  who 
had  no  share  in  the  energies  that  were  thrilling  his  little 
body,  he  would  have  looked  queer  enough.  No  sooner  had 
he  finished  his  eager  speech,  than  he  held  out  his  hand  to 
the  deacon,  and  said,  in  his  former  faint  tone  of  fatigue — 

“ God  be  with  you,  brother.  We  shall  meet  to-morrow,  and 
we  will  see  what  can  be  done  to  subdue  these  refractory  spirits.” 
When  the  deacon  was  gone,  Felix  said,  “ Forgive  me,  Mr. 
Lyon  ; I was  wrong,  and  you  are  right.” 

“ Yes,  yes,  my  friend,  you  have  that  mark  of  grace  within 
you,  that  you  are  ready  to  acknowledge  the  justice  of  a rebuke. 
Sit  down  ; you  have  something  to  say — some  packet  there.” 
They  sat  down  at  a corner  of  the  small  table,  and  Felix 
drew  the  note-book  from  his  pocket  to  lay  it  down  with  the 
pocket-book,  saying — 

“ I’ve  had  the  ill-luck  to  be  the  finder  of  these  things  in 
the  Debarrys’  park.  Most  likely  they  belong  to  one  of  the 
family  at  the  Manor,  or  to  some  grandee  who  is  staying  there. 
I hate  having  anything  to  do  with  such  people.  They’ll  think 
me  a poor  rascal,  and  offer  me  money.  You  are  a known 
man,  and  I thought  you  would  be  kind  enough  to  relieve  me 
by  taking  charge  of  these  things,  and  writing  to  Debarry,  not 
mentioning  me,  and  asking  him  to  send  some  one  for  them. 
I found  them  on  the  grass  in  the  park  this  evening  about 
half-past  seven,  in  the  corner  we  cross  going  to  Sproxton.” 
“ Stay,”  said  Mr.  Lyon,  “ this  little  book  is  open  ; we  may 
venture  to  look  in  it  for  some  sign  of  ownership.  There  be 
others  who  possess  property,  and  might  be  crossing  that  end 
of  the  park,  besides  the  Debarr.ys.” 

As  he  lifted  the  note-book  close  to  his  eyes,  the  chain 
again  slipped  out.  He  arrested  it  and  held  it  in  his  hand, 
while  he  examined  some  writing,  which  appeared  to  be  a 
name  on  the  inner  leather.  He  looked  long,  as  if  he  were 
trying  to  decipher  something  that  was  partly  rubbed  out  ; 
and  his  hands  began  to  tremble  noticeably.  He  made  a 
movement  in  an  agitated  manner,  as  if  he  were  going  to  ex- 
amine the  chain  and  seals,  which  he  held  in  his  hand*  But 


THE  RADICAL. 


T39 


he  checked  himself,  closed  his  hand  again,  and  rested  it  on 
the  table,  while  with  the  other  hand  he  pressed  the  sides  of 
the  note-book  together. 

Felix  observed  his  agitation,  and  was  much  surprised  ; 
but  with  a delicacy  of  which  he  was  capable  under  all  his 
abruptness,  he  said,  “You  are  overcome  with  fatigue,  sir. 
I was  thoughtless  to  tease  you  with  these  matters  at  the  end 
of  Sunday,  when  you  have  been  preaching  three  sermons.” 

Mr.  Lyon  did  not  speak  for  a few  moments,  but  at  last  he 
said — 

“ It  is  true.  I am  overcome.  It  was  a name  I saw — a 
name  that  called  up  a past  sorrow.  Fear  not  ; I will  do 
what  is  needful  with  these  things.  You  may  trust  them  to 
me.” 

With  trembling  fingers  he  replaced  the  chain,  and  tied 
both  the  large  pocket-book  and  the  note-book  in  his  hand- 
kerchief. He  was  evidently  making  a great  effort  over  him- 
self. But  when  he  had  gathered  the  knot  of  the  hand* 
kerchief  in  his  hand  he  said — 

“ Give  me  your  arm  to  the  door,  my  friend.  I feel  ill. 
Doubtless  I am  over-wearied.” 

The  door  was  already  open,  and  Lyddy  was  watching  for 
her  master’s  return.  Felix*  therefore  said  good-night  and 
passed  on,  sure  that  this  was  what  Mr.  Lyon  would  prefer. 
The  minister’s  supper  of  warm  porridge  was  ready  by  the 
kitchen-fire,  where  he  always  took  it  on  a Sunday  evening, 
and  afterward  smoked  his  weekly  pipe  up  the  broad  chimney 
— the  one  great  relaxation  he  allowed  himself.  Smoking, 
he  considered,  was  a recreation  of  the  travailled  spirit,  which, 
if  indulged  in,  might  endear  this  world  to  us  by  the  ignoble 
bonds  of  mere  sensuous  ease.  Daily  smoking  might  be  law- 
ful, but  it  was  not  expedient.  And  in  this  Esther  concurred 
with  a doctrinal  eagerness  that  was  unusual  in  her.  It  was 
her  habit  to  go  to  her  own  room,  professedly  to  bed,  very 
early  on  Sundays — immediately  on  her  return  from  chapel 
— that  she  might  avoid  her  father’s  pipe.  But  this  evening 
she  had  remained  at  home,  under  a true  plea  of  not  feeling 
well  ; and  when  she  heard  him  enter,  she  ran  out  of  the 
parlor  to  meet  him. 

“ Father,  you  are  ill,”  she  said,  as  he  tottered  to  the 
wicker-bottomed  arm-chair,  while  Lyddy  stood  by,  shaking 
her  head. 

“ No,  my  dear,”  he  answered  feebly,  as  she  took  off  his 
hat  and  looked  in  his  face  enquiringly  ; “ I am  weary.” 


140 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ Let  me  lay  these  things  down  for  you,”  said  Esther, 
touching  the  bundle  in  the  handkerchief. 

“ No  ; they  are  matters  which  I have  to  examine,”  he  said, 
laying  them  on  the  table,  and  putting  his  arm  across  them. 
“ Go  you  to  bed,  Lyddy.” 

“ Not  me,  sir.  If  ever  a man  looked  as  if  he  was  struck 
with  death,  it’s  you,  this  very  night  as  here  is.” 

“ Nonsense,  Lyddy,”  said  Esther,  angrily.  “ Go  to  bed 
when  my  father  desires  it.  I will  stay  with  him.” 

Lyddy  was  electrified  by  surprise  at  this  new  behavior  of 
Miss  Esther’s.  She  took  her  candle  silently  and  went. 

“ Go  you  too,  my  dear,”  said  Mr.  Lyon,  tenderly,  giving 
his  hand  to  Esther,  when  Lyddy  was  gone.  “ It  is  your  wont 
to  go  early.  Why  are  you  up  ? ” 

“ Let  me  lift  your  porridge  from  before  the  fire,  and  stay 
with  you,  father.  You  think  I’m  so  naughty  that  I don’t  like 
doing  anything  for  you,”  said  Esther,  smiling  rather  sadly  at 
him. 

“ Child,  what  has  happened  ? you  have  become  the 
image  of  your  mother  to-night,”  said  the  minister,  in  a loud 
whisper.  The  tears  came  and  relieved  him  while  Esther, 
who  had  stooped  to  lift  the  porridge  from  the  fender,  paused 
on  one  knee  and  looked  up  at  him. 

“ She  was  very  good  to  you  ? ” asked  Esther,  softly. 

“Yes,  dear.  She  did  not  reject  my  affection.  She 
thought  not'  scorn  of  my  love.  She  would  have  forgiven 
me,  if  I had  erred  against  her,  from  very  tenderness. 
Could  you  forgive  me,  child  ? ” 

“ Father,  I have  not  been  good  to  you  ; but  I will  be,  I 
will  be,”  said  Esther,  laying  her  head  on  his  knee. 

He  kissed  her  head.  “ Go  to  bed,  dear  ; I would  be  alone.” 
When  Esther  was  lying  down  that  night,  she  felt  as  if 
the  little  incidents  between  herself  and  her  father  on  this 
Sunday  had  made  it  an  epoch.  Very  slight  words  and  deeds 
may  have  a sacramental  efficacy,  if  we  can  cast  our  self- 
love  behind  us,  in  order  to  say  or  do  them.  And  it  has 
been  well  believed  through  many  ages  that  the  beginning 
of  compunction  is  the  beginning  of  a new  life  ; that  the 
mind  which  sees  itself  blameless  may  be  called  dead  in 
trespasses — in  trespasses  on  the  love  of  others,  in  trespasses 
on  their  weakness,  in  trespasses  on  all  those  great  claims 
which  are  the  image  of  our  own  need. 

But  Esther  persisted  in  assuring  herself  that  she  was  not 
bending  to  any  criticism  from  Felix.  She  was  full  of 


THE  RADICAL. 


I4I 


resentment  against  his  rudeness,  and  yet  more  against  his 
too  harsh  conception  of  her  character.  She  was  determined 
to  keep  as  much  at  a distance  from  him  as  possible. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

This  man’s  metallic  ; at  a sudden  blow 
His  soul  rings  hard.  I cannot  lay  my  palm, 

Trembling  with  life,  upon  that  jointed  brass, 

I shudder  at  the  cold  unanswering  touch; 

But  if  it  press  me  in  response,  I’m  bruised. 

The  next  morning,  when  the  Debarrys,  including  the 
rector,  who  had  ridden  over  to  the  Manor  early,  were  still 
seated  at  breakfast,  Christian  came  in  with  a letter,  saying 
that  it  had  been  brought  by  a man  employed  at  the  chapel 
in  Malthouse  Yard,  who  had  been  ordered  by  the  minister 
to  use  all  speed  and  care  in  the  delivery. 

The  letter  was  addressed  to  Sir  Maximus. 

“ Stay,  Christian,  it  may  possibly  refer  to  the  lost  pocket- 
book,”  said  Philip  Debarry,  who  was  beginning  to  feel 
rather  sorry  for  his  factotum,  as  a reaction  from  previous 
suspicions  and  indignation. 

Sir  Maximus  opened  the  letter  and  felt  for  his  glasses, 
but  then  said,  “ Here,  you  read  it,  Phil:  the  man  writes  a 
hand  like  small  print. ” 

Philip  cast  his  eyes  over  it,  and  then  read  aloud  in  a tone 
of  satisfaction  : — 

Sir, — I send  this  letter  to  apprise  you  that  I have  now  in  my  possession 
certain  articles,  which,  last  evening,  at  about  half-past  seven  o’clock, 
were  found  lying  on  the  grass  at  the  western  extremity  of  your  park. 
The  articles  are  1,  a well- filled  pocket-book,  of  brown  leather,  fastened 
with  a black  ribbon  and  with  a seal  of  red  wax;  2,  a small  note-book, 
covered  with  gilded  vellum,  whereof  the  clasp  was  burst,  and  from  out 
whereof  had  partly  escaped  a small  chain,  with  seals  and  a locket  attached, 
the  locket  bearing  on  the  back  a device,  and  round  the  face  a female 
name. 

Where'of  I request  that  you  will  further  my  effort  to  place  these  articles 
in  the  right  hands,  by  ascertaining  whether  any  person  within  your  walls 
claims  them  as  his  property,  and  by  sending  that  person  to  me  (if  such  be 
found)  ; for  I will  on  no  account  let  them  pass  from  my  care  save  into  that 
of  one  who,  declaring  himself  to  be  the  owner,  can  state  to  me  what 
is  the  impression  on  the  seal,  and  what  the  device  and  name  upon  the 
locket.  * 

I am,  sir,  yours  to  command  in  all  right  dealing, 

Malthouse  Yard,  Oct.  3,  1832.  Rufus  Lyon. 

“ Well  done,  old  Lyon,”  said  the  rector;  “ I didn’t  think 
that  any  composition  of  his  would  ever  give  me  so  much 
pleasure.” 

“ What  an  old  fox  it  is  ! ” said  Sir  Maximus.  “ Why 


*142  FELIX  HOLT, 

couldn’t  he  send  the  things  to  me  at  once  along  with  the 
letter  ? ” 

“ No,  no,  Max;  he  uses  a justifiable  caution,”  said  the 
rector,  a refined  and  rather  severe  likeness  of  his  brother, 
with  a ring  of  fearlessness  and  decision  in  his  voice  which 
startled  all  flaccid  men  and  unruly  boys.  “What  are  you 
going  to  do,  Phil  ? ” he  added,  seeing  his  nephew  rise. 

“To  write,  of  course.  Those  other  matters  are  yours,  I 
suppose  ? ” said  Mr.  Debarry,  looking  at  Christian. 

“Yes,  sir.” 

“ I shall  send  you  with  a letter  to  the  preacher.  You  can 
describe  your  own  property.  And  the  seal,  uncle— was  it 
your  coat-of-arms  ? ” 

“ No,  it  was  this  head  of  Achilles.  Here,  I can  take  it  off 
the  ring,  and  you  can  carry  it,  Christian.  But  don’t  lose 
that,  for  I’ve  had  it  ever  since  eighteen  hundred.  I should 
like  to  send  my  compliments  with  it,”  the  rector  went  on, 
looking  at  his  brother,  “ and  beg  that  since  he  has  so  much 
wise  caution  at  command,  he  would  exercise  a little  in  more 
public  matters,  instead  of  making  himself  a firebrand  in  my 
parish,  and  teaching  hucksters  and  tape-weavers  that  it’s 
their  business  to  dictate  to  statesmen.” 

“ How  did  Dissenters,  and  Methodists,  and  Quakers,  and 
people  of  that  sort  first  come  up,  uncle?”  said  Miss  Selina, 
a radiant  girl  of  twenty, who  had  given  much  time  to  the  harp. 

“ Dear  me,  Selina,”  said  her  elder  sister,  Harriet,  whose 
forte  was  general  knowledge,  “ don’t  you  remember  ‘ Wood- 
stock  ’ ? They  were  in  Cromwell’s  time.” 

“Oh!  Holdenough,  and  those  people?  Yes;  but  they 
preached  in  the  churches;  they  had  no  chapels.  Tell  me, 
uncle  Gus;  I like  to  be  wise,”  said  Selina,  looking  up  at  the 
face  which  was  smiling  down  on  her  with  a sort  of  severe 
benignity.  “ Phil  says  I’m  an  ignorant  puss.” 

“ The  seeds  of  Nonconformity  were  sown  at  the  Reforma- 
tion, my  dear,  when  some  obstinate  man  made  scruples 
about  surplices  and  the  place  of  the  communion-table,  and 
other  trifles  of  that  sort.  But  the  Quakers  came  up  about 
Cromwell’s  time,  and  the  Methodists  only^  in  the  last  cen- 
tury. The  first  Methodists  were  regular  clergymen,  the 
more’s  the  pity.” 

“ But  all  those  wrong  things,  why  didn’t  governmenCput 
them  down  ? ” 

“ Ah,  to  be  sure,”  fell  in  Sir  Maximus,  in  a cordial  tone 
of  corroboration. 


THE  RADICAL. 


*43 


“Because  error  is  often  strong,  and  government  is  often 
weak,  my  dear.  Well,  Phil,  have  you  finished  your  letter  ?” 

“ Yes,  I will  read  it  to  you/’  said  Philip,  turning  and  lean- 
ing over  the  back  of  his  chair  with  the  letter  in  his  hand. 

There  is  a portrait  of  Mr.  Philip  Debarry  still  to  be  seen 
at  Treby  Manor,  and  a very  fine  bust  of  him  at  Rome,  where 
he  died  fifteen  years  later,  a convert  to  Catholicism.  His 
face  would  have  been  plain  but  for  the  exquisite  setting  of 
his  hazel  eyes,  which  fascinated  even  the  dogs  of  the  house- 
hold. The  other  features,  though  slight  and  irregular,  were 
redeemed  from  triviality  by  the  stamp  of  gravity  and  intel- 
lectual preoccupation  in  his  face  and  bearing.  As  he  read 
aloud,  his  voice  was  what  his  uncle’s  might  have  been  if  it 
had  been  modulated  by  delicate  health  and  a visitation  of 
self-doubt. 

Sir, — In  reply  to  the  letter  with  which  you  have  favored  me  this  morn- 
ing, I beg  to  state  that  the  articles  you  describe  were  lost  from  the 
pocket  of  my  servant,  who  is  the  bearer  of  this  letter  to  you,  and  is  the 
claimant  of  the  vellum  note-book  and  the  gold  chain.  The  large  leathern 
pocket-book  is  my  own  property  and  the  impression  on  the  wax,  a hel- 
meted  head  of  Achilles,  was  made  by  my  uncle,  the  Reverend  Augustus 
Debarry,  who  allows  me  to  forward  this  seal  to  you  in  proof  that  I am 
not  making  a mistaken  claim. 

I feel  myself  under  deep  obligation  to  you,  sir,  for  the  care  and  trouble 
you  have  taken  in  order  to  restore  to  its  right  owner  a piece  of  property 
which  happens  to  be  of  particular  importance  to  me.  And  I shall  con- 
sider myself  doubly  fortunate  if  at  any  time  you  can  point  out  tome  some 
method  by  which  I may  procure  you  as  lively  a satisfaction  as  I am  now 
feeling,  in  that  full  and  speedy  relief  from  anxiety  which  I owe  to  your 
considerate  conduct. 

I remain,  sir,  your  obliged  and  faithful  servant, 

Philip  Debarry. 

“You  know  best,  Phil,  of  course,”  said  Sir  Maximus,  push- 
ing his  plate  from  him,  by  way  of  interjection.  “ But  it 
seems  to  me  you  exaggerate  preposterously  every  little  serv- 
ice a man  happens  to  do  for  you.  Why  should  you  make 
a general  offer  of  that  sort  ? How  do  you  know  what  he 
will  be  asking  you  to  do  ? Stuff  and  nonsense  ! Tell  Willis 
to  send  him  a few  head  of  game.  You  should  think  twice 
before  you  give  a blank  check  of  that  sort  to  one  of  these 
quibbling,  meddlesome  Radicals.” 

“ You  are  afraid  of  my  committing  myself  to  ‘ the  bottom- 
less perjury  of  an  et  cetera,’  ” said  Philip,  smiling,  as  he 
turned  to  fold  his  letter.  “ But  I think  I am  not  doing  any 
mischief  ; at  all  events  I could  not  be  content  to  say  less. 
And  I have  a notion  that  he  would  regard  a present  of  game 
just  now  as  an  insult.  I should,  in  his  place.” 


144 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ Yes,  yes,  you  ; but  you  don’t  make  yourself  a measure 
of  Dissenting  preachers,  I hope,”  said  Sir  Maximus,  rather 
wrathfully.  “ What  do  you  say,  Gus  ?” 

“ Phil  is  right,”  said  the  rector,  in  an  absolute  tone.  “I 
would  not  deal  with  a Dissenter,  or  put  profits  into  the 
pocket  of  a Radical  which  I might  put  into  the  pocket  of  a 
good  Churchman  and  a quiet  subject.  But  if  the  greatest 
scoundrel  in  the  world  made  way  for  me,  or  picked  my  hat 
up,  I would  thank  him.  So  would  you,  Max/’ 

“ Pooh  ! I didn’t  mean  that  one  shouldn’t  behave  like  a 
gentleman,”  said  Sir  Maximus,  in  some  vexation.  He  had 
great  pride  in  his  son’s  superiority  even  to  himself  ; but  he 
did  not  quite  trust  the  dim  vision  opened  by  Phil’s  new  words 
and  new  notions.  He  could  only  submit  in  silence  while  the 
letter  was  delivered  to  Christian,  with  the  order  to  start  for 
Malthouse  Yard  immediately. 

Meanwhile,  in  that  somewhat  dim  locality  the  possible 
claimant  of  the  note-book  and  the  chain  was  thought  of  and 
expected  with  palpitatirfg  agitation.  Mr.  Lyon  was  seated 
in  his  study,  looking  haggard  and  already  aged  from  a sleep- 
less night.  He  was  so  afraid  lest  his  emotion  should  deprive 
him  of  the  presence  of  mind  necessary  to  the  due  attention 
to  particulars  in  the  coming  interview,  that  he  continued  to 
occupy  his  sight  and  touch  with  the  objects  which  had  stirred 
the  depths,  not  only  of  memory,  but  of  dread.  Once  again  he 
unlocked  a small  box  which  stood  beside  his  desk,  and  took 
from  it  a little  oval  locket,  and  compared  this  with  one  which 
hung  with  the  seals  on  the  stray  gold  chain.  There  was  the  same 
device  in  enamel  on  the  back  of  both  : clasped  hands  sur- 
rounded with  blue  flowers.  Both  had  round  the  face  a name 
in  gold  italics  on  a blue  ground  : the  name  on  the  locket  taken 
from  the  drawer  was  Maurice  ; the  name  on  the  locket  which 
hung  with  the  seals  was  Annette , and  within  the  circle  of  this 
name  there  was  a lover’s  knot  of  light  brown  hair,  which 
matched  a curl  that  lay  in  the  box.  The  hair  in  the  locket 
which  bore  the  name  of  Maurice  was  of  a very  dark  brown, 
and  before  returning  it  to  the  drawer  Mr.  Lyon  noted  the 
color  and  quality  of  this  hair  more  carefully  than  ever. 
Then  he  recurred  toThe  note-book  : undoubtedly  there  had 
been  something,  probably  a third  name,  beyond  the  names 
Maurice  Christian , which  had  themselves  been  rubbed  and 
slightly  smeared  as  if  by  accident  ; and  from  the  very  first 
examination  in  the  vestry,  Mr.  Lyon  could  not  prevent  him- 
self from  transferring  the  mental  image  of  the  third  name 


THE  RADICAL* 


i4S 

in  faint  lines  to  the  rubbed  leather.  The  leaves  of  the  note- 
book seemed  to  have  been  recently  inserted  ; they  were  of 
fresh  white  paper,  and  only  bore  some  abbreviations  in 
pencil  with  a notation  of  small  sums.  Nothing  could  be 
gathered  from  the  comparison  of  the  writing  in  the  book 
with  that  of  the  yellow  letters  which  lay  in  the  box  ; the 
smeared  name  had  been  carefully  printed,  and  so  bore  no 
resemblance  to  the  signature  of  those  letters  ; and  the 
pencil  abbreviations  and  figures  had  been  made  too  hurriedly 
to  bear  any  decisive  witness.  “ I will  ask  him  to  write — to 
write  a description  of  the  locket, ” had  been  one  of  Mr. 
Lyon’s  thoughts  ; but  he  faltered  in  that  intention.  His 
power  of  fulfilling  it  must  depend  on  what  he  saw  in  this 
visitor,  of  whose  coming  he  had  a horrible  dread,  at  the 
very  time  he  was  writing  to  demand  it.  In  that  demand  he 
was  obeying  the  voice  of  his  rigid  conscience,  which  had 
never  left  him  perfectly  at  rest  under  his  one  act  of  deception 
— the  concealment  from  Esther  that  he  was  not  her  natural 
father,  the  assertion  of  a false  claim  upon  her.  “ Let  my 
path  be  henceforth  simple,”  he  had  said  to  himself  in  the 
anguish  of  that  night  ; “ let  me  seek  to  know  what  is,  and 
if  possible  to  declare  it.”  If  he  was  really  going  to  find 
himself  face  to  face  with  the  man  who  had  been  Annette’s 
husband,  and  who  was  Esther’s  father — if  that  wandering 
of  his  from  the  light  had  brought  the  punishment  of  a 
blind  sacrilege  as  the  issue  of  a conscious  transgression, — 
he  prayed  that  he  might  be  able  to  accept  all  consequences 
of  pain  to  himself.  But  he  saw  other  possibilities  concern- 
ing the  claimant  of  the  book  and  chain.  His  ignorance 
and  suspicions  as  to  the  history  and  character  of  Annette’s 
husband  made  it  credible  that  he  had  laid  a plan  for  con- 
vincing her  of  his  death  as  a means  of  freeing  himself 
from  a burdensome  tie;  but  it  seemed  equally  probable  that 
he  was  really  dead,  and  that  these  articles  of  property  had  been 
a bequest,  or  a payment,  or  even  a sale, to  their  present  owner. 
Indeed, in  all  these  years  there  was  no  knowing  into  how  many 
hands  such  pretty  trifles  might  have  passed.  And  the  claim- 
ant might,  after  all,  have  no  connection  with  the  Debarrys  ; 
-he  might  not  come  on  this  day  or  the  next.  There  might 
be  more  time  left  for  reflection  and  prayer. 

All  these  possibilities,  which  would  remove  the  pressing 
need  for  difficult  action,  Mr.  Lyon  represented  to  himself, 
but  he  had  no  effective  belief  in  them  ; his  belief  went 
with  his  strongest  feeling,  and  in  these  moments  his  strongest 


146 


FELIX  HOLT, 


feeling  was  dead.  He  trembled  under  the  weight  that  seemed  al- 
ready added  to  his  own  sin;  he  felt  himself  already  confronted 
by  Annette’s  husband  and  Esther’s  father.  Perhaps  the  father 
was  a gentleman  on  a visit  to  the  Debarrys.  There  was  nohin- 
dering  the  pang  with  which  the  old  man  said  to  himself — 

“ The  child  will  not  be  sorry  to  leave  this  poor  home, 
and  I shall  be  guilty  in  her  sight.” 

He  was  walking  about  among  the  rows  of  books  when 
there  came  a loud  rap  at  the  outer  door.  The  rap  shook 
him  so  that  he  sank  into  his  chair,  feeling  almost  powerless. 
Lyddy  presented  herself. 

* Here’s  ever  such  a fine  man  from  the  Manor  wants  to 
see  you,  sir.  Dear  heart,  dear  heart ! shall  I tell  him  you’re 
too  bad  to  see  him  ? ” 

“ Show  him  up,”  said  Mr.  Lyon,  making  an  effort  to 
rally.  When  Christian  appeared,  the  minister  half  rose, 
leaning  on  an  arm  of  his  chair,  and  said,  “Be  seated,  sir,” 
seeing  nothing  but  that  a tall  man  was  entering. 

“ I’ve  brought  you  a letter  from  Mr.  Debarry,”  said 
Christian,  in  an  off-hand  manner.  The  rusty  little  man,  in 
his  dismal  chamber,  seemed  to  the  Ulysses  of  the  steward’s 
room  a pitiable  sort  of  human  curiosity,  to  whom  a man  of 
the  world  would  speak  rather  loudly,  in  accommodation  to 
an  eccentricity  which  was  likely  to  be  accompanied  with 
deafness.  One  cannot  be  eminent  in  everything  ; and  if 
Mr.  Christian  had  dispersed  his  faculties  in  study  that 
would  have  enabled  him  to  share  unconventional  points  of 
view,  he  might  have  worn  a mistaken  kind  of  boot,  and 
been  less  competent  to  win  at  e carte,  or  at  betting,  or  in  any 
other  contest  suitable  to  a person  of  figure. 

As  he  seated  himself,  Mr.  Lyon  opened  the  letter,  and 
held  it  close  to  his  eyes,  so  that  his  face  was  hidden.  But 
at  the  word  “ servant  ” he  could  not  avoid  starting,  and 
looking  off  the  letter  toward  the  bearer.  Christian,  know- 
ing what  was  in  the  letter,  conjectured  that  the  old  man  was 
amazed  to  learn  that  so  distinguished-looking  a personage 
was  a servant  ; he  leaned  forward  with  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  balanced  his  cane  on  his  fingers,  and  began  a whisper- 
ing whistle.  The  minister  checked  himself,  finished  the 
reading  of  the  letter,  and  then  slowly  and  nervously  put  on 
his  spectacles  to  survey  this  man,  between  whose  fate  and 
his  own  there  might  be  a terrible  collision.  The  word 
“ servant  ” had  been  a fresh  caution  to  him.  He  must  do 
nothing  rashly.  Esther’s  lot  was  deeply  concerned. 


THE  RADICAL.  I47 

“ Here  is  the  seal  mentioned  in  the  letter,”  said  Chris- 
tian. 

Mr.  Lyon  drew  the  pocket-book  from  his  desk,  and  after 
comparing  the  seal  with  the  impression,  said,  “ It  is  right, 
sir : I deliver  the  pocket-book  to  you.” 

He  held  it  out  with  the  seal,  and  Christian  rose  to  take 
them,  saying  carelessly,  “ The  other  things — the  chain  and 
the  little  book — are  mine.” 

“ Your  name  then  is ” 

“ Maurice  Christian.” 

A spasm  shot  through  Mr.  Lyon.  It  had  seemed  possible 
that  he  might  hear  another  name,  and  be  freed  from  the  worse 
half  of  his  anxiety.  His  next  words  were  not  wisely  chosen, 
but  escaped  him  impulsively. 

“ And  you  have  no  other  name  ? ” 

“ What  do  you  mean  ? ” said  Christian,  sharply. 

“ Be  so  good  as  to  reseat  yourself.” 

Christian  did  not  comply.  “ I’m  rather  in  a hurry,  sir,” 
he  said,  recovering  his  coolness.  “ If  it  suits  you  to  restore 
to  me  those  small  articles  of  mine,  I shall  be  glad  ; but  I 
would  rather  leave  them  behind  than  be  detained.”  He  had 
reflected  that  the  minister  was  simply  a punctilious  old  bore. 
The  question  meant  nothing  else.  But  Mr.  Lyon  had 
wrought  himself  up  to  the  task  of  finding  out,  then 
and  there,  if  possible,  whether  or  not  this  were  Annette’s  hus- 
band. How  could  he  lay  himself  and  his  sin  before  God  if 
he  wilfully  declined  to  learn  the  truth?  “ Nay,  sir,  I will 
not  detain  you  unreasonably,”  he  said,  in  a firmer  tone  than 
before.  “ How  long  have  these  articles  been  your  property  ?” 
“ Oh,  for  more  than  twenty  years,”  said  Christian,  care- 
lessly. 

He  was  not  altogether  easy  under  the  minister’s  persist- 
ence, but  for  that  very  reason  he  showed  no  more  impa- 
tience. 

“ You  have  been  in  France  and  in  Germany?  ” 

“I  have  been  in  most  countries  on  the  continent.” 

“ Be  so  good  as  to  write  me  your  name/'  said  Mr.  Lyon, 
dipping  a pen  in  ink,  and  holding  it  out  with  a piece  of 
paper. 

Christian  was  much  surprised,  but  not  now  greatly 
alarmed.  In  his  rapid  conjectures  as  to  the  explanation  of 
the  minister’s  curiosity,  he  had  alighted  on  one  which  might 
carry  advantage  rather  than  inconvenience.  But  he  was  not 
going  to  commit  himself. 


148 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ Before  I oblige  you  there,  sir,”  he  said,  laying  dowuche 
pen,  and  looking  straight  at  Mr.  Lyon,  “ I must  know  ex- 
actly the  reasons  you  have  for  putting  these  questions  to  me. 
You  are  a stranger  to  me — an  excellent  person,  I dare  say — 
but  I have  no  concern  about  you  farther  than  to  get  from 
you  those  small  articles.  Do  you  still  doubt  that  they  are 
mine?  You  wished,  I think,  that  I should  tell  you  what  the 
locket  is  like.  It  has  a pair  of  hands  and  blue  flowers  on 
one  side  and  the  name  Annette  round  the  hair  on  the  other 
side.  That  is  all  I have  to  say.  If  you  wish  for  anything 
more  from  me,  you  will  be  good  enough  to  tell  me  why  you 
wish  it.  Now  then,  sir,  what  is  your  concern  with  me?  ” 
The  cool  stare,  the  hard  challenging  voice,  with  which  these 
words  were  uttered,  made  them  fall  like  the  beating 
cutting  chill  of  heavy  hail  on  Mr.  Lyon.  He  sank  back  in 
his  chair  in  utter  irresolution  and  helplessness.  How  was 
it  possible  to  lay  bare  the  sad  and  sacred  past  in  answer  to 
such  a call  as  this  ? The  dread  with  which  he  had  thought  of 
this  man’s  coming,  the  strongly-confirmed  suspicion  that  he 
was  really  Annette’s  husband,  intensified  the  antipathy 
created  by  his  gestures  and  glances.  The  sensitive  little 
minister  knew  instinctively  that  words  which  would  cost  him 
efforts  as  painful  as  the  obedient  footsteps  of  a wounded 
bleeding  hound  that  wills  a foreseen  throe,  would  fall  on  this 
man  as  the  pressure  of  tender  fingers  falls  on  a brazen  glove. 
And  Esther — if  this  man  was  her  father,  every  additional 
word  might  help  to  bring  down  irrevocable,  perhaps  cruel 
consequences  on  her.  A thick  mist  seemed  to  have  fallen 
where  Mr.  Lyon  was  looking  for  the  track  of  duty  : the  diffi- 
cult question,  how  far  he  was  to  care  for  consequences  in 
seeking  and  avowing  the  truth,  seemed  anew  obscured.  All 
these  things,  like  the  vision  of  a coming  calamity,  were  com- 
pressed into  a moment  of  consciousness.  Nothing  could  be 
done  to-day ; everything  must  be  deferred.  He  answered 
Christian  in  a low  apologetic  tone. 

“It  is  true,  sir;  you  have  told  me  all  I can  demand.  I 
have  no  sufficient  reason  for  detaining  your  property  further.” 
He  handed  the  note-book  and  chain  to  Christian,  who 
had  been  observing  him  narrowly,  and  now  said,  in  a tone  of 
indifference,  as  he  pocketed  the  articles— 

“Very  good,  sir.  I wish  you  a good-morning.” 

“ Good-morning,”  said  Mr.  Lyon,  feeling,  while  the  door 
closed  behind  his  guest,  that  mixture  of  uneasiness  and  re- 
lief which  all  procrastination  of  difficulty  produces  in  minds 


THE  RADICAL. 


I49 


capable  of  strong  forecast.  The  work  was  still  to  be  done. 
He  had  still  before  him  the  task  of  learning  everything  that 
could  be  learned  about  this  man’s  relation  to  himself  and 
Esther. 

Christian,  as  he  made  his  way  back  along  Malthouse  Lane, 
was  thinking,  “ This  old  fellow  has  got  some  secret  in  his 
head.  It’s  not  likely  he  can  know  anything  about  me  : it 
must  be  about  Bycliffe.  But  Bycliffe  was  a gentleman  : how 
should  he  ever  have  had  anything  to  do  with  such  a seedy 
old  ranter  as  that  ? ” 

CHAPTER  XV. 

And  doubt  shall  be  as  lead  upon  the  feet 

Of  thy  most  anxious  will. 

Mr.  Lyon  was  careful  to  look  in  at  Felix  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble after  Christian’s  departure,  to  tell  him  that  his  trust  was 
discharged.  During  the  rest  of  the  day  he  was  somewhat 
relieved  from  agitating  reflections  by  the  necessity  of  attend- 
ing to  his  ministerial  duties,  the  rebuke  of  rebellious  singers 
being  one  of  them  ; and  on  his  return  from  the  Monday 
evening  prayer-meeting  he  was  so  overcome  with  weariness 
that  he  went  to  bed  without  taking  note  of  any  objects  in 
his  study.  But  when  he  rose  the  next  morning,  his  mind, 
once  more  eagerly  active,  was  arrested  by  Philip  Debarry’s 
letter,  which  still  lay  open  on  his  desk,  and  was  arrested  by 
precisely  that  portion  which  had  been  unheeded  the  day  be- 
fore: — “/  shall  consider  myself  doubly  fortunate  if  at  any 
time  you  can  point  out  to  me  some  method  by  which  I may  pro- 
cure you  as  lively  a satisfaction  as  I am  now  feeling , in  that 
full  and  speedy  relief  from  anxiety  which  I owe  to  your  con- 
siderate conduct .” 

To  understand  how  these  words  could  carry  the  sugges- 
tion they  actually  had  for  the  minister  in  a crisis  of  peculiar 
personal  anxiety  and  struggle,  we  must  bear  in  mind  that 
for  many  years  he  had  walked  through  life  with  the  sense  of 
having  for  a space  been  unfaithful  to  what  he  esteemed  the 
highest  trust  ever  committed  to  man — the  ministerial  voca- 
tion. In  a mind  of  any  nobleness,  a lapse  into  transgres- 
sion against  an  object  still  regarded  as  supreme,  issues  in  a 
new  and  purer  devotedness,  chastised  by  humility  and 
watched  over  by  a passionate  regret.  So  it  was  with  that 
ardent  spirit  which  animated  the  little  body  of  Rufus  Lyon. 
Once  in  his  life  he  had  been  blinded,  defeated,  hurried  along 
by  rebellious  impulse  ; he  had  gone  astray  after  his  own  de- 
sires, and  had  let  the  fire  die  out  on  the  altar  ; and  as  the  true 


150  FELIX  HOLT, 

penitent,  hating  his  self-besotted  error,  asks  from  all  coming 
life  duty  instead  of  joy,  and  service  instead  of  ease,  so  Rufus 
was  perpetually  on  the  watch  lest  he  should  ever  again  post- 
pone to  some  private  affection  a great  public  opportunity 
which  to  him  was  equivalent  to  a command. 

Now  here  was  an  opportunity  brought  by  a combination  of 
that  unexpected  incalculable  kind  which  might  be  regarded 
as  the  Divine  emphasis  invoking  especial  attention  to  trivial 
events — an  opportunity  of  securing  what  Rufus  Lyon  had 
often  wished  for  as  a means  of  honoring  truth,  and  exhibiting 
error  in  the  character  of  a stammering,  halting,  short- 
breathed  usurper  of  office  and  dignity.  What  was  more  ex- 
asperating to  a zealous  preacher,  with  whom  copious  speech 
was  not  a difficulty  but  a relief — who  never  lacked  argu- 
ment, but  only  combatants  and  listeners— than  to  reflect  that 
there  were  thousands  on  thousands  of  pulpits  in  this  king- 
dom, supplied  with  handsome  sounding-boards,  and  occupy- 
ing an  advantageous  position  in  buildings  far  larger  than  the 
chapel  in  Malthouse  Yard — buildings  sure  to  be  places  of 
resort,  even  as  the  markets  were,  if  only  from  habit  and  in- 
terest ; and  that  these  pulpits  were  filled,  or  rather  made 
vacuous,  by  men  whose  privileged  education  in  the  ancient 
centres  of  instruction  issued  in  twenty  minutes’  formal  read- 
ing of  tepid  exhortation  or  probably  infirm  deductions  from 
premises  based  on  rotten  scaffolding  ? And  it  is  in  the  na- 
ture of  exasperation  gradually  to  concentrate  itself.  The 
sincere  antipathy  of  a dog  toward  cats  in  general,  necessa- 
rily takes  the  form  of  indignant  barking  at  the  neighbor’s 
black  cat  which  makes  daily  trespass  ; the  bark  at  imagined 
cats,  though  a frequent  exercise  of  the  canine  mind,  is  yet 
comparatively  feeble.  Mr.  Lyon’s  sarcasm  was  not  without 
an  edge  when  he  dilated  in  general  on  an  elaborate  educa- 
tion for  teachers  which  issued  in  the  minimum  of  teaching, 
but  it  found  a whetstone  in  the  particular  example  of  that 
bad  system  known  as  the  rector  of  Treby  Magna.  There 
was  nothing  positive  to  be  said  against  the  Rev.  Augustus 
Debarry ; his  life  could  not  be  pronounced  blameworthy 
except  for  its  negatives.  And  the  good  Rufus  was  too  pure- 
minded  not  to  be  glad  of  that.  He  had  no  delight  in  vice 
as  discrediting  wicked  opponents  ; he  shrank  from  dwelling 
on  the  images  of  cruelty  or  grossness,  and  his  indignation 
was  habitually  inspired  only  by  those  moral  and  intellectual 
mistakes  which  darken  the  soul  but  do  not  injure  or  degrade 
the  temple  of  the  body.  If  the  rector  had  been  a less  re- 


THE  RADICAL. 


spectable  man,  Rufus  would  have  more  reluctantly  made 
him  an  object  of  antagonism  ; but  as  an  incarnation  of  soul- 
destroying  error,  dissociated  from  those  baser  sins  which 
have  no  good  repute  even  with  the  worldly,  it  would  be  an 
argumentative  luxury  to  get  into  close  quarters  with  him,  and 
fight  with  a dialectic  short-sword  in  the  eyes  of  the  Treby 
world  (sending  also  a written  account  thereof  to  the  chief 
organs  of  D'issenting  opinion).  Vice  was  essentially  stupid 
— a deaf  and  eyeless  monster,  insusceptible  to  demonstra- 
tion : the  Spirit  might  work  on  it  by  unseen  ways,  and  the 
unstudied  sallies  of  sermons  were  often  as  the- arrows  which 
pierced  and  awakened  the  brutified  conscience ; but  illumi- 
nated thought,  finely  divided  speech,  were  the  choicer 
weapons  of  the  Divine  armory,  which  whoso  could  wield 
must  be  careful  not  to  leave  idle. 

Here,  then,  was  the  longed-for  opportunity.  Here  was 
an  engagement — an  expression  of  a strong  wish — on  the  part 
of  Philip  Debarry,  if  it  were  in  his  power,  to  procure  a satis- 
faction to  Rufus  Lyon.  How  had  that  man  of  God  and 
exemplary  Independent  minister,  Mr.  Ainsworth,  of  per- 
secuted sanctity,*  conducted  himself  when  a similar  occasion 
had  befallen  him  at  Amsterdam  ? He  had  thought  of 
nothing  but  the  glory  of  the  highest  cause,  and  had  con- 
verted the  offer  of  recompense  into  a public  debate  with  a 
Jew  on  the  chief  mysteries  of  the  faith.  Here  was  a model  : 
the  case  was  nothing  short  of  a heavenly  indication,  and  he, 
Rufus  Lyon,  would  seize  the  occasion  to  demand  a public 
debate  with  the  rector  on  the  constitution  of  the  true  Church. 

What  if  he  were  inwardly  torn  by  doubt  and  anxiety  con- 
cerning his  own  private  relations  and  the  facts  of  his  past 
life  ? That  danger  of  absorption  within  the  narrow  bounds 
of  self  only  urged  him  the  more  toward  action  which  had  a 
wider  bearing,  and  might  tell  on  the  welfare  of  England  at 
large.  It  was  decided.  Before  the  minister  went  down  to 
breakfast  that  morning  he  had  written  the  following  letter 
to  Mr.  Philip  Debarry  : — 

Sir, — Referring  to  your  letter  of  yesterday,  I find  the  following  words  : 
“ I shall  consider  myself  doubly  fortunate  if  at  any  time  you  can  point 
out  to  me  some  method  by  which  I may  procure  you  as  lively  a satisfac- 
tion as  I am  now  feeling,  in  that  full  and  speedy  relief  from  anxiety 
which  I owe  to  your  considerate  conduct.” 

I am  not  unaware,  sir,  that,  in  the  usage  of  the  world,  there  are  words 
of  courtesy  (so  called)  which  are  understood,  by  those  amongst  whom  they 
are  current,  to  have  no  precise  meaning,  and  to  constitute  no  bond  of 
obligation.  I will  not  now  insist  that  this  is  an  abuse  of  language, 


152 


FELIX  HOLT, 


wherein  our  fallible  nature  requires  the  strictest  safeguards  against  laxity 
and  misapplication,  for  I do  not  apprehend  that  in  writing  the  words  I 
have  above  quoted,  you  were  open  to  the  reproach  of  using  phrases  which, 
while  seeming  to  carry  a specific  meaning,  were  really  no  more  than  what 
is  called  a polite  form.  I believe,  sir,  that  you  used  these  words  advisedly, 
sincerely,  and  wkh  an  honorable  intention  of  acting  on  them  as  a pledge, 
should  such  action  be  demanded.  No  other  supposition  on  my  part 
would  correspond  to  the  character  you  bear  as  a young  man  who  aspires 
(albeit  mistakenly)  to  engraft  the  finest  fruits  of  public  virtue  on  a creed 
and  institutions,  whereof  the  sap  is  composed  rather  of  human  self- 
seeking  than  of  everlasting  truth. 

Wherefore  I act  on  this  my  belief  in  the  integrity  of  your  written  word  ; 
I beg  you  to  procure  for  me  (as  it  is  doubtless  in  your  power)  that  I may 
be  allowed  a public  discussion  with  your  near  relative,  the  rector  of  this 
parish,  the  Reverend  Augustus  Debarry,  to  be  held  in  the  large  room  of 
the  Free  School,  or  in  the  Assembly  Room  of  the  Marquis  of  Granby, 
these  being  the  largest  covered  spaces  at  our  command.  For  I presume 
he  would  neither  allow  me  to  speak  within  his  church,  nor  would  consent 
himself  to  speak  within  my  chapel  ; and  the  probable  inclemency  of  the 
approaching  season  forbids  an  assured  expectation  that  we  could  discourse 
in  the  open  air.  The  subjects  I desire  to  discuss  are — first,  the  Con- 
stitution of  the  true  Church  ; and,  secondly,  the  bearing  thereupon  of  the 
English  Reformation.  Confidently  expecting  that  you  will  comply  with 
this  request,  which  is  the  sequence  of  your  expressed  desire,  I remain, 
sir,  yours,  with  the  respect  offered  to  a sincere  withstander, 

Rufus  Lyon, 

Malthouse  Yard. 

After  writing  this  letter,  the  good  Rufus  felt  that  serenity 
and  elevation  of  mind  which  is  infallibly  brought  by  a pre- 
occupation with  the  wider  relations  of  things.  Already  he 
was  beginning  to  sketch  the  course  his  argument  might  most 
judiciously  take  in  the  coming  debate  ; his  thoughts  were 
running  into  sentences,  and  marking  off  careful  exceptions 
in  parentheses  ; and  he  had  come  down  and  seated  himself 
at  the  breakfast-table  quite  automatically,  without  expecta- 
tion of  toast  or  coffee,  when  Esther’s  voice  and  touch  recalled 
to  him  an  inward  debate  of  another  kind,  in  which  he  felt 
himself  much  weaker.  Again  there  arose  before  him  the 
image'  of  that  cool,  hard-eyed,  worldly  man,  who  might  be 
this  dear  child’s  father,  and  one  against  whose  rights  he  had 
himself  grievously  offended.  Always  as  the  image  recurred 
to  him  Mr.  Lyon’s  heart  sent  forth  a prayer  for  guidance, 
but  no  definite  guidance  had  yet  made  itself  visible  for  him. 
It  could  not  be  guidance — it  was  a temptation — that  said, 
“Let  the  matter  rest:  seek  to  know  no  more;  know  only 
what  is  thrust  upon  you.”  The  remembrance  that  in  his 
time  of  wandering  he  had  wilfully  remained  in  ignorance  of 
facts  which  he  might  have  enquired  after,  deepened  the 
impression  that  it  was  now  an  imperative  duty  to  seek  the 


THE  RADICAL. 


153 


fullest  attainable  knowledge.  And  the  enquiry  might  pos- 
sibly issue  in  a blessed  repose,  by  putting  a negative  on  all 
his  suspicions.  But  the  more  vividly  all  the  circumstances 
became  present  to  him,  the  more  unfit  he  felt  himself  to  set 
about  any  investigation  concerning  this  man  who  called  him- 
self Maurice  Christian.  He  could  seek  no  confidant  or 
helper  among  “ the  brethren  ” ; he  was  obliged  to  admit  to 
himself  that  the  members  of  his  church,  with  whom  he  hoped 
to  go  to  heaven,  were  not  easy  to  converse  with  on  earth 
touching  the  deeper  secrets  of  his  experience,  and  were  still 
less  able  to  advise  him  as  to  the  wisest  procedure  in  a case 
of  high  delicacy,  with  a worldling  who  had  a carefully- 
trimmed  whisker  and  a fashionable  costume.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life  it  occurred  to  the  minister  that  he  should  be 
glad  of  an  adviser  who  had  more  worldly  than  spiritual 
experience,  and  that  it  might  not  be  inconsistent  with  his 
principles  to  seek  some  light  from  one  who  had  studied  human 
law.  But  it  was  a thought  to  be  paused  upon,  and  not  fol- 
lowed out  rashly ; some  other  guidance  might  intervene. 

Esther  noticed  that  her  father  was  in  a fit  of  abstraction, 
that  he  seemed  to  swallow  his  coffee  and  toast  quite  uncon- 
sciously, and  that  he  vented  from  time  to  time  a low  guttural 
interjection,  which  was  habitual  with  him  when  he  was  ab- 
sorbed by  an  inward  discussion.  She  did  not  disturb  him 
by  remarks, and  only  wondered  whether  anything  unusual  had 
occurred  on  Sunday  evening.  But  at  last  she  thought  it  need- 
ful to  say,  “You  recollect  what  I told  you  yesterday,  father  ? ” 
“Nay,  child;  what?”  said  Mr.  Lyon,  rousing  himself. 

“ That  Mr.  Jermyn  asked  me  if  you  would  probably  be  at 
home  this  morning  before  one  o’clock.” 

Esther  was  surprised  to  see  her  father  start  and  change 
color  as  if  he  had  been  shaken  by  some  sudden  collision 
before  he  answered — 

“ Assuredly  ; I do  not  intend  to  move  from  my  study 
after  I have  once  been  out  to  hand  this  letter  to  Zachary.” 
“ Shall  I tell  Lyddy  to  take  him  up  at  once  to  your  study 
if  he  comes  ? If  not,  I shall  have  to  stay  in  my  own  room, 
because  I shall  be  at  home  all  this  morning,  and  it  is  rather 
cold  now  to  sit  without  a fire.” 

“Yes,  my  dear,  let  him  come  up  to  me  ; unless,  indeed, 
he  should  bring  a second  person,  which  might  happen,  see- 
ing that  in  all  likelihood  he  is  coming,  as  hitherto,  on  elec- 
tioneering business.  And  I could  not  well  accommodate 
two  visitors  up-stairs.” 


*54 


FELIX  HOLT, 


When  Mr.  Lyon  went  out  to  Zachary,  the  pew-opener,  to 
give  him  a second  time  the  commission  of  carrying  a letter  to 
Treby  Manor,  Esther  gave  her  injunction  to  Lyddy  that  if 
one  gentleman  came  he  was  to  be  shown  up-stairs — if  two, 
they  were  to  be  shown  into  the  parlor.  But  she  had  to  re- 
solve several  questions  before  Lyddy  clearly  saw  what  was 
before  her — as  that,  “ if  it  was  the  gentleman  as  came  on 
Thursday  in  the  pepper-and-salt  coat,  was  he  to  be  shown 
up-stairs  ? And  the  gentleman  from  the  Manor  yesterday 
as  went  out  whistling — had  Miss  Esther  heard  about  him  ? 
There  seemed  no  end  of  these  great  folks  coming  to  Malt- 
house  Yard  since  there  was  talk  of  the  election  ; but  they 
might  be  poor  lost  creatures  the  most  of  ’em.”  Whereupon 
Lyddy  shook  her  head  and  groaned,  under  an  edifying 
despair  as  to  the  future  lot  of  gentlemen  callers. 

Esther  always  avoided  asking  questions  of  Lyddy,  who 
found  an  answer  as  she  found  a key,  by  pouring  out  a pock- 
etful of  miscellanies.  But  she  had  remarked  so  many  indi- 
cations that  something  had  happened  to  cause  her  father 
unusual  excitement  and  mental  preoccupation,  that  she 
could  not  help  connecting  with  them  the  fact  of  this  visit 
from  the  Manor,  which  he  had  not  mentioned  to  her. 

She  sat  down  in  the  dull  parlor  and  took  up  her  netting; 
for  since  Sunday  she  had  felt  unable  to  read  when  she  was 
alone,  being  obliged,  in  spite  of  herself,  to  think  of  Felix 
Holt — to  imagine  what  he  would  like  her  to  be,  and  what 
sort  of  views  he  took  of  life  so  as  to  make  it  seem  valuable 
in  the  absence  of  all  elegance,  luxury,  gayety,  or  romance. 
Had  he  yet  reflected  that  he  had  behaved  very  rudely  to  her 
on  Sunday?  Perhaps  not.  Perhaps  he  had  dismissed  her 
from  his  mind  with  contempt.  And  at  that  thought  Esther's 
eyes  smarted  unpleasantly.  She  was  fond  of  netting,  because 
it  showed  to  advantage  both  her  hand  and  her  foot  ; and 
across  this  image  of  Felix  Holt’s  indifference  and  contempt 
there  passed  the  vaguer  image  of  a possible  somebody  who 
would  admire  her  hands  and  feet,  and  delight  in  looking  at 
their  beauty,  and  long,  yet  not  dare,  to  kiss  them.  Life 
would  be  much  easier  in  the  presence  of  such  a love.  But 
it  was  precisely  this  longing  after  her  own  satisfaction  that 
Felix  had  reproached  her  with.  Did  he  want  her  to  be 
heroic  ? That  seemed  impossible  without  some  great  occa- 
sion. Her  life  was  a heap  of  fragments,  and  so  were  her 
thoughts  : some  great  energy  was  needed  to  bind  them  to- 
gether. Esther  was  beginning  to  lose  her  complacency  at 


THE  RADICAL. 


*55 

her  own  wit  and  criticism  ; to  lose  the  sense  of  superiority 
in  an  awakening  need  of  reliance  on  one  whose  vision  was 
wider,  whose  nature  was  purer  and  stronger  than  her  own. 
But  then,  she  said  to  herself,  that  “one  ” must  be  tender  to 
her,  not  rude  and  predominating  in  his  manners.  A man 
with  any  chivalry  in  him  could  never  adopt  a scolding  tone 
toward  a woman — that  is,  toward  a charming  woman.  But 
Felix  had  no  chivalry  in  him.  He  loved  lecturing  and 
opinion  too  well  ever  to  love  any  woman. 

In  this  way  Esther  strove  to  see  that  Felix  was  thoroughly 
in  the  wrong — at  least,  if  he  did  not  come  again  expressly 
to  show  that  he  was  sorry. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

Trueblue.  These  men  have  no  votes.  Why  should  I court  them  ? 

Gray  fox.  No  votes,  but  power. 

Trueblue.  What  ! over  charities  ? 

Grayfox.  No.  over  brains:  which  disturbs  the  canvass.  In  a natural  state  of  things 
the  average  price  of  a vote  at  Paddlebrook  is  nine-and-sixpence,  throwing  the  fifty 
pound  tenants,  who  cost  nothing,  into  the  divisor.  But  these  talking  men  cause  an 
artificial  rise  of  prices. 

The  expected  important  knock  at  the  door  came  about 
twelve  o’clock,  and  Esther  could  hear  that  there  were  two 
visitors.  Immediately  the  parlor  door  was  opened  and  the 
shaggy-haired,  cravatless  image  of  Felix  Holt,  which  was 
just  then  full  in  the  mirror  of  Esther’s  mind,  was  displaced 
by  the  highly-contrasted  appearance  of  a personage  whose 
name  she  guessed  before  Mr.  Jermyn  had  announced  it. 
The  perfect  morning  costume  of  that  day  differed  much 
from  our  present  ideal : it  was  essential  that  a gentleman’s 
chin  should  be  well  propped,  that  his  collar  should  have  a 
voluminous  roll,  that  his  waistcoat  should  imply  much  dis- 
crimination, and  that  his  buttons  should  be  arranged  in  a 
manner  which  would  now  expose  him  to  general  contempt. 
And  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  at  the  distant  period  when 
Treby  Magna  first  knew  the  excitements  of  an  election, 
there  existed  many  other  anomalies  now  obsolete,  besides 
short-waisted  coats  and  broad  stiffeners. 

But  we  have  some  notions  of  beauty  and  fitness  which 
withstand  the  centuries  ; and  quite  irrespective  of  dates,  it 
would  be  pronounced  that  at  the  age  of  thirty-four  Harold 
Transome  was  a striking  and  handsome  man.  He  was  one 
of  those  people,  as  Denner  remarked,  to  whose  presence  in 
the  room  you  could  not  be  indifferent ; if  you  do  not  hate 
or  dread  them,  you  must  find  the  touch  of  their  hands,  nay, 
their  very  shadows,  agreeable. 


i5<5 


FELIX  HOLT, 


Esther  felt  a pleasure  quite  new  to  her  as  she  saw  his 
finely-embrowned  face  and  full  bright  eyes  turned  toward 
her  with  an  air  of  deference  by  which  gallantry  must  com- 
mend itself  to  a refined  woman  who  is  not  absolutely  free 
from  vanity.  Harold  Transome  regarded  women  as  slight 
things,  but  he  was  fond  of  slight  things  in  the  intervals  of 
business  ; and  he  held  it  among  the  chief  arts  of  life  to  keep 
these  pleasant  diversions  within  such  bounds  that  they 
should  never  interfere  with  the  course  of  his  serious  ambi- 
tion. Esther  was  perfectly  aware,  as  he  took  a chair  near 
her,  that  he  was  under  some  admiring  surprise  at  her  appear- 
ance and  manner.  How  could  it  be  otherwise  ? She  believed 
that  in  the  eyes  of  a well-bred  man  no  young  lady  in  Treby 
could  equal  her  : she  felt  a glow  of  delight  at  the  sense  that 
she  was  being  looked  at. 

“ My  father  expected  you,”  she  said  to  Mr.  Jermyn.  “I 
delivered  your  letter  to  him  yesterday.  He  will  be  down 
immediately.” 

She  disentangled  her  foot  from  her  netting  and  wound  it 

up. 

“ I hope  you  are  not  going  to  let  us  disturb  you,”  said 
Harold,  noticing  her  action.  a We  come  to  discuss  election 
affairs,  and  we  particularly  desire  to  interest  the  ladies.” 

“ I have  no  interest  with  any  one  who  is  not  already  on 
the  right  side,”  said  Esther  smiling. 

“ I am  happy  to  see  at  least  that  you  wear  the  Liberal 
colors.” 

“ I fear  I must  confess  that  it  is  more  from  love  of  blue 
than  from  love  of  Liberalism.  Yellow  opinions  could  only 
have  brunettes  on  their  side.”  Esther  spoke  with  her  usual 
pretty  fluency,  but  she  had  no  sooner  uttered  the  words  than 
she  thought  how  angry  they  would  have  made  Felix. 

“ If  my  cause  is  to  be  recommended  by  the  becomingness 
of  my  colors,  then  I am  sure  you  are  acting  in  my  interest 
by  wearing  them.” 

Esther  rose  to  leave  the  room. 

“ Must  you  really  go  ? ” said  Harold,  preparing  to  open 
the  door  for  her. 

“Yes,  I have  an  engagement — a lesson  at  half-past 
twelve,”  said  Esther,  bowing  and  floating  out  like  a blue- 
robed  Naiad,  but  not  without  a suffused  blush  as  she  passed 
through  the  doorway. 

It  was  a pity  the  room  was  so  small,  Harold  Transome 
thought : this  girl  ought  to  walk  in  a house  where  there  were 


THE  RADICAL. 


iS7 


halls  and  corridors.  But  he  had  soon  dismissed  this  chance 
preoccupation  with  Esther  ; for  before  the  door  was  closed 
again  Mr.  Lyon  had  entered,  and  Harold  was  entirely  bent  on 
what  had  been  the  object  of  his  visit.  The  minister,  though 
no  elector  himself,  had  considerable  influence  over  Liberal 
electors,  and  it  was  the  part  of  wisdom  in  a candidate  to 
cement  all  political  adhesion  by  a little  personal  regard,  if 
possible.  Garstin  was  a harsh  and  wiry  fellow  ; he  seemed 
to  suggest  that  sour  whey,  which  some  say  was  the  original 
meaning  of  Whig  in  the  Scottish,  and  it  might  suggest  the 
theoretic  advantages  of  Radicalism  if  it  could  be  associated 
with  a more  generous  presence.  What  would  conciliate  the 
personal  regard  of  old  Mr.  Lyon  became  a curious  problem 
to  Harold,  now  the  little  man  made  his  appearance.  But 
canvassing  makes  a gentleman  acquainted  with  many  strange 
animals  ; together  with  the  ways  of  catching  and  taming 
them  ; and  thus  the  knowledge  of  natural  history  advances 
amongst  the  aristocracy  and  wealthy  commoners  of  our  land. 

“ I am  very  glad  to  have  secured  this  opportunity  of 
making  your  personal  acquaintance,  Mr.  Lyon,”  said  Harold, 
putting  out  his  hand  to  the  minister  when  Jermyn  had  men- 
tioned his  name.  “ I am  to  address  the  electors  here,  in  the 
Market-Place,  to-morrow  ; and  I should  have  been  sorry  to 
do  so  without  first  paying  my  respects  privately  to  my  chief 
friends,  as  there  may  be  points  on  which  they  particularly 
wish  me  to  explain  myself.” 

“You  speak  civilly,  sir,  and  reasonably,”  said  Mr.  Lyon, 
with  a vague  short-sighted  gaze,  in  which  a candidate’s  ap- 
pearance evidently  went  for  nothing.  “ Pray  be  seated, 
gentlemen.  It  is  my  habit  to  stand.” 

He  placed  himself  at  a right  angle  with  his  visitors,  his 
worn  look  of  intellectual  eagerness,  slight  frame,  and  rusty 
attire,  making  an  odd  contrast  with  their  flourishing  per- 
sons, unblemished  costume,  and  comfortable  freedom  from 
excitement.  The  group  was  fairly  typical  of  the  difference 
between  the  men  who  are  animated  by  ideas  and  the  men 
who  are  expected  to  apply  them.  Then  he  drew  forth  his 
spectacles,  and  began  to  rub  them  with  the  thin  end  of  his 
coat  tail.  He  was  inwardly  exercising  great  self-mastery — 
suppressing  the  thought  of  his  personal  needs,  which 
Jermyn’s  presence  tended  to  suggest,  in  order  that  he  might 
be  equal  to  the  larger  duties  of  this  occasion. 

“ I am  aware — Mr.  Jermyn  has  told  me,”  said  Harold, 
“ what  good  service  you  have  done  me  already,  Mr.  Lyon. 


58 


FELIX  HOLT, 


The  fact  is,  a man  of  intellect  like  you  was  especially  needed 
in  my  case.  The  race  I am  running  is  really  against  Garstin 
only,  who  calls  himself  a Liberal,  though  he  cares  for  noth- 
ing, and  understands  nothing,  except  the  interests  of  the 
wealthy  traders.  And  you  have  been  able  to  explain  the 
difference  between  Liberal  and  Liberal,  which,  as  you  and  I 
know,  is  something  like  the  difference  between  fish  and  fish.” 
“ Your  comparison  is  not  unapt,  sir,”  said  Mr.  Lyon,  still 
holding  his  spectacles  in  his  hand,  “ at  this  epoch,  when  the 
mind  of  the  nation  has  been  strained  on  the  passing  of  one 
measure.  Where  a great  weight  has  to  be  moved,  we  re- 
quire not  so  much  selected  instruments  as  abundant  horse- 
power. But  it  is  an  unavoidable  evil  of  these  massive 
achievements  that  they  encourage  a coarse  undiscriminating- 
ness  obstructive  of  more  nicely-wrought  results,  and  an  ex- 
aggerated expectation  inconsistent  with  the  intricacies  of 
our  fallen  and  struggling  condition.  I say  not  that  compro- 
mise is  unnecessary,  but  it  is  an  evil  attendant  on  our  im- 
perfection ; and  I would  pray  every  one  to  mark  that,  where 
compromise  broadens,  intellect  and  conscience  are  thrust 
into  narrower  room.  Wherefore  it  has  been  my  object  to 
show  our  people  that  there  are  many  who  have  helped  to 
draw  the  car  of  Reform,  whose  ends  are  but  partial,  and 
who  forsake  not  the  ungodly  principle  of  selfish  alliances, 
but  would  only  substitute  Syria  for  Egypt — thinking  chiefly 
of  their  own  share  in  peacocks,  gold  and  ivory.”  ^ 

“ Just  so,”  said  Harold,  who  was  quick/at  new  languages, 
and  still  quicker  at  translating  other  men’s  generalities  into 
his  own  special  and  immediate  purposes,  “ men  who  will  be 
satisfied  if  they  can  only  bring  in  a plutocracy,  buy  up  the 
land,  and  stick  the  old  crests  on  their  new  gateways.  Now 
the  practical  point  to  secure  against  these  false  Liberals  at 
present  is,  that  our  electors  should  not  divide  their  votes. 
As  it  appears  that  many  who  vote  for  Debarry  are  likely  to 
split  their  votes  in  favor  of  Garstin,  it  is  of  the  first  conse- 
quence that  my  voters  should  give  me  plumpers.  If  they 
divide  their  votes  they  can’t  keep  out  Debarry,  and  they 
may  help  to  keep  out  me.  I feel  some  confidence  in  asking 
you  to  use  your  influence  in  this  direction,  Mr.  Lyon.  We 
candidates  have  to  praise  ourselves  more  than  is  graceful  ; 
but  you  are  aware  that,  while  I belong  by  my  birth  to  the 
classes  that  have  their  roots  in  tradition  and  all  the  old  loy- 
alties, my  experience  has  lain  chiefly  among  those  who 
make  their  own  career,  and  depend  on  the  new  rather  than 


THE  RADICAL. 


159 

the  old.  I have  had  the  advantage  of  considering  the  national 
welfare  under  varied  lights  : I have  wider  views  than  those  of 
a mere  cotton  lord.  On  questions  connected  with  religious  lib- 
erty I would  stop  short  at  no  measure  that  was  not  thorough.1' 

“ I hope  not,  sir — I hope  not,’*  said  Mr.  Lyon,  gravely  ; 
finally  putting  on  his  spectacles  and  examining  the  face  of 
the  candidate,  whom  he  was  preparing  to  turn  into  a cate- 
chumen. For  the  good  Rufus,  conscious  of  his  political 
importance  as  an  organ  of  persuasion,  felt  it  his  duty  to 
catechise  a little,  and  also  to  do  his  part  toward  impressing 
a probable  legislator  with  a sense  of  his  responsibility.  But 
the  latter  branch  of  duty  somewhat  obstructed  the  catechis- 
ing, for  his  mind  was  so  urged  by  considerations  which  he  held 
in  danger  of  being  overlooked,  that  the  questions  and  an- 
swers bore  a very  slender  proportion  to  his  exposition.  It 
was  impossible  to  leave  the  question  of  church-rates  without 
noting  the  grounds  of  their  injustice,  and  without  a brief 
enumeration  of  reasons  why  Mr.  Lyon,  for  his  own  part, 
would  not  present  that  passive  resistance  to  a legal  imposi- 
tion which  had  been  adopted  by  the  Friends  (whose  hero- 
ism in  this  regard  was  nevertheless  worthy  of  all  honor). 

Comprehensive  talkers  are  apt  to  be  tiresome  when  we 
are  not  athirst  for  information,  but,  to  be  quite  fair,  we  must 
admit  that  superior  reticence  is  a good  deal  due  to  the  lack 
of  matter.  Speech  is  often  barren  ; but  silence  also  doeo 
not  necessarily  brood  over  a full  nest.  Your  still  fowl,  blink- 
ing at  you  without  remark,  may  all  the  while  be  sitting  on 
one  addled  nest-egg  ; and  when  it  takes  to  cackling,  will 
have  nothing  to  announce  but  that  addled  delusion. 

Harold  Transome  was  not  at  all  a patient  man,  but  in  mat- 
ters of  business  he  was  quite  awake  to  his  cue, and  in  this  case 
it  was  perhaps  easier  to  listen  than  to  answer  questions.  But 
Jermyn,  who  had  plenty  of  work  on  his  hands,  took  an  op- 
portunity of  rising,  and  saying,  as  he  looked  at  his  watch — 
“ I must  really  be  at  the  office  in  five  minutes.  You  will 
find  me  there,  Mr.  Transome  ; you  have  probably  still  many 
things  to  say  to  Mr.  Lyon.” 

“I  beseech  you,  sir,”  said  the  minister,  changing  color, 
and  by  a quick  movement  laying  his  hand  on  Jermyn's  arm 
— “ I beseech  you  to  favor  me  with  an  interview  on  some 
private  business — this  evening,  if  it  were  possible.” 

Mr.  Lyon,  like  others  who  are  habitually  occupied  with 
impersonal^  subjects,  was  liable  to  this  impulsive  sort  of 
action.  He  snatched  at  the  details  of  life  as  if  they  were 


i6o 


FELIX  HOLT, 


darting  past  him — as  if  they  were  like  the  ribbons  at  his 
knees,  which  would  never  be  tied  all  day  if  they  were  not  tied 
on  the  instant.  Through  these  spasmodic  leaps  out  of  his 
abstractions  into  real  life,  it  constantly  happened  that  he  sud- 
denly took  a course  which  had  been  the  subject  of  too  much 
doubt  with  him  ever  to  have  been  determined  on  by  contin- 
uous thought.  And  if  Jermyn  had  not  startled  him  by 
threatening  to  vanish  just  when  he  was  plunged  in  politics, 
he  might  never  have  made  up  his  mind  to  confide  in  a 
worldly  attorney. 

(“  An  odd  man,”  as  Mrs.  Muscat  observed,  “ to  have  such 
a gift  in  the  pulpit.  But  there’s  One  knows  better  than  we 

do ” which,  in  a lady  who  rarely  felt  her  judgment  at  a 

loss,  was  a concession  that  showed  much  piety.) 

Jermyn  was  surprised  at  the  little  man’s  eagerness.  “ By 
all  means,”  he  answered,  quite  cordially.  “ Could  you  come 
to  my  office  at  eight  o’clock  ? ” 

“ For  several  reasons,  I must  beg  you  to  come  to  me.” 

“ Oh,  very  good.  I’ll  walk  out  and  see  you  this  evening, 
if  possible.  I shall  have  much  pleasure  in  being  of  any  use 
to  you.”  Jermyn  felt  that  in  the  eyes  of  Harold  he  was  ap- 
pearing all  the  more  valuable  when  his  services  were  thus 
in  request.  He  went  out,  and  Mr.  Lyon  easily  relapsed  into 
polities,  for  he  had  been  on  the  brink  of  a favorite  subject 
on  which  he  was  at  issue  with  his  fellow-Liberals. 

At  that  time,  when  faith  in  the  efficacy  of  political  change 
was  at  fever-heat  in  ardent  Reformers,  many  measures  which 
men  are  still  discussing  with  little  confidence  on  either  side, 
were  then  talked  about  and  disposed  of  like  property  in 
near  reversion.  Crying  abuses — “ bloated  paupers,”  “ bloated 
pluralists,”  and  other  corruptions  hindering  men  from  being 
wise  and  happy — had  to  be  fought  against  and  slain.  Such 
a time  is  a time  of  hope.  Afterward  when  the  corpses  of 
those  monsters  have  been  held  up  to  the  public  wonder  and 
abhorrence,  and  yet  wisdom  and  happiness  do  not  follow, 
but  rather  a more  abundant  breeding  of  the  foolish  and  un- 
happy, comes  a time  of  doubt  and  despondency.  But  in  the 
great  Reform-year  Hope  was  mighty  : the  prospect  of  Re- 
form had  even  served  the  voters  instead  of  drink  ; and  in 
one  place,  at  least,  there  had  been  “ a dry  election.”  And 
now  the  speakers  at  Reform  banquets  were  exuberant  in 
congratulation  and  promise  : Liberal  clergymen  of  the  Estab- 
lishment toasted  Liberal  Catholic  clergymen  without  any 
allusion  to  scarlet,  and  Catholic  clergymen  replied  with  a 


THE  RADICAL. 


i6t 


like  tender  reserve.  Some  dwelt  on  the  abolition  of  all 
abuses,  and  on  millennial  blessedness'generally;  others, whose 
imaginations  were  less  suffused  with  exhalations  of  the  dawn 
insisted  chiefly  on  the  ballot-box. 

Now  on  this  question  of  the  ballot  the  minister  strongly 
took  the  negative  side.  Our  pet  opinions  are  usually  those 
which  place  us  in  a minority  of  a minority  amongst  our  own 
party  : — very  happily,  else  those  poor  opinions,  born  with  no 
silver  spoon  in  their  mouths — how  would  they  get  nourished 
and  fed  ? So  it  was  with  Mr.  Lyon  and  his  objection  to  the 
ballot.  But  he  had  thrown  out  a remark  on  the  subject  which 
was  not  quite  clear  to  his  hearer,  who  interpreted  it  accord- 
ing to  his  best  calculation  of  probabilities. 

“I  have  no  objection  to  the  ballot,”  said  Harold,  “but  I 
think  that  is  not  the  sort  of  thing  we  have  to  work  at  just  now. 
We  shouldn’t  get  it.  And  other  questions  are  imminent.” 

“ Then,  sir,  you  would  vote  for  the  ballot  ? ” said  Mr.  Lyon, 
stroking  his  chin. 

“ Certainly,  if  the  point  came  up.  I have  too  much  re- 
spect for  the  freedom  of  the  voter  to  oppose  anything  which 
offers  a chance  of  making  that  freedom  more  complete.” 

Mr.  Lyon  looked  at  the  speaker  with  a pitying  smile  and 
a subdued  “ h’m — m — m,”  which  Harold  took  for  a sign  of 
satisfaction.  He  was  soon  undeceived. 

“ You  grieve  me,  sir  ; you  grieve  me  much.  And  I pray 
you  to  reconsider  this  question,  for  it  will  take  you  to  the 
root,  as  I think,  of  political  morality.  I engage  to  show  to  any 
impartial  mind,  duly  furnished  with  the  principles  of  public 
and  private  rectitude,  that  the  ballot  would  be  pernicious,  and 
that  if  it  were  not  pernicious,  it  would  still  be  futile.  I will 
show, first, that  it  would  be  futile  as  a preservative  from  bribery 
and  illegitimate  influence;  and,  secondly,  that  it  would  be  in 
the  worst  kind  pernicious,  as  shutting  the  door  against  those  in- 
fluences whereby  the  soul  of  a man  and  the  character  of  a cit- 
izen are  duly  educated  for  their  great  functions.  Be  not 
alarmed  if  I detain  you,  sir.  It  is  well  worth  the  while/’ 

“ Confound  this  old  man,”  thought  Harold.  “ I’ll  never 
make  a canvassing  call  on  a preacher  again,  unless  he  has 
lost  his  voice  from  a cold.”  He  was  going  to  excuse  him- 
self as  prudently  as  he  could,  by  deferring  the  subject  till 
the  morrow,  and  inviting  Mr.  Lyon  to  come  to  him  in  the 
committee-room  before  the  time  appointed  for  his  public 
speech  ; but  he  was  relieved  by  the  opening  of  the  door. 
Lyddy  put  in  her  head  to  say — 


162 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ If  you  please,  sir,  here’s  Mr.  Holt  wants  to  know  if  he 
may  come  in  and  speak  to  the  gentleman.  He  begs  your  par- 
don, but  you’.re  to  say  ‘ no  ’ if  you  don’t  like  him  to  come.” 

“ Nay,  show  him  in  at  once,  Lyddy.  A young  man,” 
Mr.  Lyon  went  on,  speaking  to  Harold,  “ whom  a represent- 
ative ought  to  know — no  voter,  but  a man  of  ideas  and  study.” 
“ He  is  thoroughly  welcome,”  said  Harold,  truthfully 
enough,  though  he  felt  little  interest  in  the  voteless  man  of 
ideas  except  as  a diversion  from  the  subject  of  the  ballot. 
He  had  been  standing  for  the  last  minute  or  two,  feeling  less 
of  a victim  in  that  attitude,  and  more  able  to  calculate  on 
means  of  escape. 

“ Mr.  Holt,  sir,”  said  the  minister,  as  Felix  entered,  “ is 
a young  friend  of  mine,  whose  opinions  on  some  points  I 
hope  to  see  altered,  but  who  has  a zeal  for  public  justice 
which  I trust  he  will  never  lose.” 

“ I am  glad  to  see  Mr.  Holt,”  said  Harold,  bowing.  He 
perceived  from  the  way  in  which  Felix  bowed  to  him  and 
turned  to  the  most  distant  spot  in  the  room,  that  the  candi- 
date’s shake  of  the  hand  would  not  be  welcome  here.  “ A 
formidable  fellow,”  he  thought,  “ capable  of  mounting  a cart 
in  the  market-place  to-morrow  and  cross-examining  me,  if  I 
say  anything  that  doesn’t  please  him.” 

“Mr.  Lyon,”  said  Felix,  “I  have  taken  a liberty  with  you 
in  asking  to  see  Mr.  Transome  when  he  is  engaged  with  you. 
But  I have  to  speak  to  him  on  a matter  which  I shouldn’t 
care  to  make  public  at  present,  and  it  is  one  on  which  I am 
sure  you  will  back  me.  I heard  that  Mr.  Transome  was  here, 
so  I ventured  to  come.  I hope  you  will  both  excuse  me,  as 
my  business  refers  to  some  electioneering  measures  which 
are  being  taken  by  Mr.  Transome’s  agents.” 

“ Pray  go  on,”  said  Harold, expecting  something  unpleasant. 
“I’m  not  going  to  speak  against  treating  voters,”  said 
Felix;  “I  suppose  buttered  ale,  and  grease  of  that  sort  to 
make  the  wheels  go,  belong  to  the  necessary  humbug  of  rep- 
resentation. But  I wish  to  ask  you,  Mr.  Transome,  whether 
it  is  with  your  knowledge  that  agents  of  yours  are  bribing  rough 
fellows  who  are  no  voters — the  colliers  and  navvies  at  Sprox- 
ton — with  the  chance  of  extra  drunkenness,  that  they  may 
make  a posse  on  your  side  at  the  nomination  and  polling  ? ” 
“Certainly  not,”  said  Harold.  “You  are  aware,  my  dear 
sir,  that  a candidate  is  very  much  at  the  mercy  of  his  agents 
as  to  the  means  by  which  he  is  returned,  especially  when 
many  years’  absence  has  made  him  a stranger  to  the  men 


THE  RADICAL.  163 

actually  conducting  business.  But  are  you  sure  of  your 
facts  ? ” 

“ As  sure  as  my  senses  can  make  me,”  said  Felix,  who 
then  briefly  described  what  had  happened  on  Sunday.  “ I 
believed  that  you  were  ignorant  of  all  this,  Mr.  Transome,” 
he  ended,  “ and  that  was  why  I thought  some  good  might  be 
done  by  speaking  to  you.  If  not,  I should  be  tempted  to 
expose  the  whole  affair  as  a disgrace  to  the  Radical  party. 
I’m  a Radical  myself,  and  mean  to  work  all  my  life  long 
against  privilege,  monopoly,  and  oppression.  But  I would 
rather  be  a livery-servant  proud  of  my  master’s  title,  than  I 
would  seem  to  make  common  cause  with  scoundrels  who 
turn  the  best  hopes  of  men  into  by-words  for  cant  and  dis- 
honesty.” 

“ Your  energetic  protest  is  needless  here,  sir,”  said  Harold, 
offended  at  what  sounded  like  a threat,  and  was  certainly 
premature  enough  to  be  in  bad  taste.  In  fact,  this  error  of 
behavior  in  Felix  proceeded  from  a repulsion  which  was 
mutual.  It  was  a constant  source  of  irritation  to  him  that 
the  public  men  on  his  side  were,  on  the  whole,  not  conspic- 
uously better  than  the  public  men  on  the  other  side  ; that 
the  spirit  of  innovation,  which  with  him  was  a part  of  reli- 
gion, was  in  many  of  its  mouthpieces  no  more  of  a religion 
than  the  faith  in  rotten  boroughs  ; and  he  was  thus  predis- 
posed to  distrust  Harold  Transome.  Harold,  in  his  turn, 
disliked  impracticable  notions  of  loftiness  and  purity— dis- 
liked all  enthusiasm  ; and  he  thought  he  saw  a very  trouble- 
some, vigorous  incorporation  of  that  nonsense  in  Felix.  But 
it  would  be  foolish  to  exasperate  him  in  any  way. 

“ If  you  choose  to  accompany  me  to  Jermyn’s  office,”  he 
went  on,  “ the  matter  shall  be  enquired  into  in  your  presence. 
I think  you  will  agree  with  me,  Mr.  Lyon,  that  this  will  be 
the  most  satisfactory  course.” 

“ Doubtless,”  said  the  minister,  who  liked  the  candidate 
very  well,  and  believed  that  he  would  be  amenable  to  argu- 
ment ; “ and  I would  caution  my  young  friend  against  a too 
great  hastiness  of  words  and  action.  David’s  cause  against 
Saul  was  a righteous  one  ; nevertheless  not  all  who  clave 
unto  David  were  righteous  men.” 

“The  more  was  the  pity,  sir,”  said  Felix.  “ Especially  if 
he  winked  at  their  malpractices.” 

Mr.  Lyon  smiled,  shook  his  head,  and  stroked  his  favor- 
ite’s arm  deprecatingly. 

“ It  is  rather  too  much  for  any  man  to  keep  the  con- 


FELIX  HOLT, 


164 

sciences  of  ail  his  party/'  said  Harold.  “ If  you  had  lived 
in  the  East,  as  I have,  you  would  be  more  tolerant,  for  ex- 
ample, of  an  active  industrious  selfishness,  such  as  we  have 
here,  though  it  may  not  always  be  quite  scrupulous:  you 
would  see  how  much  better  it  is  than  an  idle  selfishness.  I 
have  heard  it  said,  a bridge  is  a -good  thing — worth  helping 
to  make,  though  half  the  men  who  worked  at  it  were  rogues." 

“ Oh,  yes  ! " said  Felix,  scornfully,  “ give  me  a handful  of 
generalities  and  analogies,  and  I’ll  undertake  to  justify  Burke 
and  Hare,  and  prove  them  benefactors  of  their  species.  I’ll 
tolerate  no  nuisances  but  such  as  I can’t  help;  and  the  ques- 
tion now  is, not  whether  we  can  do  away  with  all  the  nuisances 
in  the  world,  but  with  a particular  nuisance  under  our  noses.” 

“ Then  we  had  better  cut  the  matter  short,  as  I propose, 
by  going  at  once  to  Jermyn’s,"  said  Harold.  “ In  that  case, 
I must  bid  you  good-morning,  Mr.  Lyon." 

“ I would  fain,’’  said  the  minister,  looking  uneasy — “I 
would  fain  have  had  a further  opportunity  of  considering 
that  question  of  the  ballot  with  you.  The  reasons  against 
it  need  not  be  urged  lengthily;  they  only  require  complete 
enumeration  to  prevent  any  seeming  hiatus,  where  an  op- 
posing fallacy  might  trust  itself  in." 

“ Never  fear,  sir,"  said  Harold,  shaking  Mr.  Lyon’s  hand 
cordially,  “ there  will  be  opportunities.  Shall  I not  see  you 
in  the  committee-room  to-morrow  ? ’’ 

“ I think  not,"  said  Mr.  Lyon,  rubbing  his  brow,  with  a 
sad  remembrance  of  his  personal  anxieties.  “ But  I will 
send  you,  if  you  will  permit  me,  a brief  writing,  on  which  you 
can  meditate  at  your  leisure." 

“ I shall  be  delighted.  Good-bye." 

Harold  and  Felix  went  out  together;  and  the  minister, 
going  up  to  his  dull  study,  asked  himself  whether,  under  the 
pressure  of  conflicting  experience,  he  had  faithfully  dis- 
charged the  duties  of  the  past  interview  ? 

If  a cynical  sprite  were  present,  riding  on  one  of  the  motes 
in  that  dusty  room,  he  may  have  made  himself  merry  at  the 
illusions  of  the  little  minister  who  brought  so  much  con- 
science to  bear  on  the  production  of  so  slight  an  effect.  I 
confess  to  smiling  myself,  being  sceptical  as  to  the  effect  of 
ardent  appeals  and  nice  distinctions  on  gentlemen  who  are 
got  up,  both  inside  and  out,  as  candidates  in  the  style  of  the 
period;  but  I never  smiled  at  Mr.  Lyon’s  trustful  energy 
without  falling  to  penitence  and  veneration  immediately 
after.  For  what  we  call  illusions  are  often,  in  truth,  a wider 


THE  RADICAL. 


i65 

vision  of  past  and  recent  realities — a willing  movement  of 
a man’s  soul  with  the  larger  sweep  of  the  world's  forces — a 
movement  toward  a more  assured  end  than  the  chances  of  a 
single  life.  We  see  human  heroism  broken  into  units  and 
say,  this  unit  did  little — might  as  well  not  have  been.  But 
in  this  way  we  might  break  up  a great  army  into  units;  in 
this  way  we  might  break  the  sunlight  into  fragments,  and 
think  that  this  and  the  other  might  be  cheaply  parted  with. 
Let  us  rather  raise  a monument  to  the  soldiers  whose  brave 
hearts  only  kept  the  ranks  unbroken  and  met  death — a 
monument  to  the  faithful  who  were  not  famous,  and  who 
are  precious  as  the  continuity  of  the  sunbeams  is  precious, 
though  some  of  them  fall  unseen  and  on  barrenness. 

At  present,  looking  back  on  that  day  at  Treby,  it  seem  to 
me  that  the  sadder  illusion  lay  with  Harold  Transome,  who 
was  trusting  in  his  own  skill  to  shape  the  success  of  his  own 
morrows,  ignorant  of  what  many  yesterdays  had  determined 
for  him  beforehand. 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

it  is  a good  and  soothfast  saw; 

Half-roasted  never  will  be  raw; 

No  dough  is  dried  once  more  to  meal, 

No  crock  new-shapen  by  the  wheel; 

You  can’t  turn  curds  to  milk  again, 

Nor  Now,  by  wishing,  back  to  Then  ; 

And  having  tasted  stolen  honey, 

You  can’t  buy  innocence  for  money. 

Jermyn  was  not  particularly  pleased  that  some  chance  had 
apparently  hindered  Harold  Transome  from  making  other 
canvassing  visits  immediately  after  leaving  Mr.  Lyon,  and 
so  had  sent  him  back  to  the  office  earlier  than  he  had  been 
expected  to  come.  The  inconvenient  chance  he  guessed  at 
once  to  be  represented  by  Felix  Holt,  whom  he  knew  very 
well  by  Trebian  report  to  be  a young  man  witth  so  little  of 
the  ordinary  Christian  motives  as  to  making  an  appearance 
and  getting  on  in  the  world,  that  he  presented  no  handle  to 
any  judicious  and  respectable  person  who  might  be  willing 
to  make  use  of  him. 

Harold  Transome,  on  his  side,  was  a great  deal  annoyed 
at  being  worried  by  Felix  in  an  enquiry  about  electioneering 
details.  The  real  dignity  and  honesty  there  was  in  him 
made  him  shrink  from  this  necessity  ot  satisfying  a man  with 
a troublesome  tongue  ; it  was  as  if  he  were  to  show  indig- 
nation at  the  discovery  of  one  barrel  with  a false  bottom, 
when  he  had  invested  his  money  in  a manufactory  where  a 


1 66 


FELIX  HOLT, 


larger  or  smaller  number  of  such  barrels  had  always  been 
made.  A practical  man  must  seek  a good  end  by  the  only 
possible  means  ; that  is  to  say,  if  he  is  to  get  into  Parlia- 
ment he  must  not  be  too  particular.  It  was  not  disgrace- 
ful to  be  neither  a Quixote  nor  a theorist,  aiming  to  correct 
the  moral  rules  of  the  world  : but  whatever  actually  was, 
or  might  prove  to  be,  disgraceful,  Harold  held  in  detestation. 
In  this  mood  he  pushed  on  unceremoniously  to  the  inner  office 
without  waiting  to  ask  questions;  and  when  he  perceived  that 
Jermyn  was  not  alone  he  said,  with  haughty  quickness — 
“ A question  about  the  electioneering  at  Sproxton.  Can 
you  give  your  attention  to  it  at  once  ? Here  is  Mr.  Holt, 
who  has  come  to  me  about  the  business.” 

“A — yes — a — certainly/’  said  Jermyn,  who,  as  usual,  was 
the  more  cool  and  deliberate  because  he  was  vexed.  He 
was  standing,  and,  as  he  turned  round,  his  broad  figure  con- 
cealed the  person  who  was  seated  writing  at  the  bureau. 
“ Mr.  Holt — a — will  doubtless — a — make  a point  of  saving 
a busy  man’s  time.  You  can  speak  at  once.  This  gentle- 
man ” ■ — here  Jermyn  made  a slight  backward  movement  of 
the  head — “ is  one  of*ourselves  ; he  is  a true-blue.’* 

“I  have  simply  to  complain,”  said  Felix,  “ that  one  of 
your  agents  has  been  sent  on  a bribing  expedition  to  Sprox- 
ton— with  what  purpose  you,  sir,  may  know  better  than  I 
do.  Mr.  Transome,  it  appears,  was  ignorant  of  the  affair, 
and  does  not  approve  it.” 

Jermyn,  looking  gravely  and  steadily  at  Felix  while  he  was 
speaking,  at  the  same  time  drew  forth  a small  sheaf  of  papers 
from  his  side  pocket,  and  then,  as  he  turned  his  eyes  slowly 
on  Harold,  felt  in  his  waistcoat-pocket  for  his  pencil-case. 

“ I don’t  approve  of  it  at  all,”  said  Harold,  who  hated 
Jermyn’s  calculated  slowness  and  conceit  in  his  own  impene- 
trability. “Be  good  enough  to  put  a stop  to  it,  will  you  ? ” 

“ Mr.  Holt,  I know,  is  an  excellent  Liberal,”  said  Jermyn, 
just  inclining  his  head  to  Harold,  and  then  alternately  look- 
ing at  Felix  and  docketing  his  bills  ; “ but  he  is  perhaps  too 
inexperienced  to  be  aware  that  no  canvass — a — can  be  con- 
ducted without  the  action  of  able  men,  who  must — a — be 
trusted,  and  not  interfered  with.  And  as  to  any  possibility 
of  promising  to  put  a stop — a— to  any  procedure— a — that 
depends.  If  he  had  ever  held  the  coachman’s  ribbons  in 
his  hands,  as  I have  in  my  younger  days — a — he  would  know 
that  stopping  is  not  always  easy.” 

“I  know  very  little  about  holding  ribbons,”  said  Felix  ; 


THE  RADICAL. 


167 


“but  I saw  clearly  enough  at  on.ce  that  more  mischief  had 
been  done  than  could  be  well  mended.  Though  I believe, 
if  it  were  heartily  tried,  the  treatment  might  be  reduced  and 
something  might  be  done  to  hinder  the  men  from  turning 
out  in  a body  to  make  a noise,  which  might  end  in  worse.” 
“ They  might  be  hindered  from  making  a noise  on  our 
side,”  said  Jermyn,  smiling.  “ That  is  perfectly  true.  But 
if  they  made  a noise  on  the  other — would  your  purpose  be 
answered  better,  sir  ? ” 

Harold  was  moving  about  in  an  irritated  manner  while 
Felix  and  Jermyn  were  speaking.  He  preferred  leaving 
the  talk  to  the  attorney,  of  whose  talk  he  himself  liked  to 
keep  as  clear  as  possible. 

“ I can  only  say,”  answered  Felix,  “ that  if  you  make  use  of 
those  heavy  fellows  when  the  drink  is  in  them,  I shouldn't 
like  your  responsibilty.  You  might  as  well  drive  bulls  to 
roar  on  our  side  as  bribe  a set  of  colliers  and  navvies  to  shout 
and  groan.” 

“ A lawyer  may  well  envy  yonr  command  of  language, 
Mr.  Holt,”  said  Jermym,  pocketing  his  bills  again,  and 
shutting  up  his  pencil  ; “ but  he  would  not  be  satisfied  with 
the  accuracy — a — of  your  terms*.  You  must  permit  me  to 
check  your  use  of  the  word  ‘ bribery.'  The  essence  of 
bribery  is,  that  it  should  be  legally  proved  ; there  is  not 
such  a thing — a — in  rerum  natura — a — as  unproved  bribery. 
There  has  been  no  such  "hing  as  bribery  at  Sproxton,  I’ll 
answer  for  it.  The  presence  of  a body  of  stalwart  fellows 
on — a — the  Liberal  side  will  tend  to  preserve  order  ; for  we 
know  that  the  benefit  clubs  from  the  Pitchley  district  will 
show  for  Debarry.  Indeed,  the  gentleman  who  has  con- 
ducted the  canvass  at  Sproxton  is  experienced  in  Parlia- 
mentary affairs,  and  would  not  exceed — a — the  necessary 
measures  that  a rational  judgment  would  dictate.” 

“ What  ! you  mean  the  man  who  calls  himself  Johnson  ?” 
said  Felix,  in  a tone  of  disgust. 

Before  Jermyn  chose  to  answer,  Harold  broke  in,  saying, 
quickly  and  peremptorily,  “ The  'long  and  short  of  it  is  this, 
Mr.  Holt  : I shall  desire  and  insist  that  whatever  can  be 
done  by  way  of  remedy  shall  be  done.  Will  that  satisfy 
you?  You  see  now  some  of  the  candidate's  difficulties?” 
said  Harold,  breaking  into  his  most  agreeable  smile.  “ I 
hope  you  will  have  some  pity  for  me.” 

“ I suppose  I must  be  content,”  said  Felix,  not  thoroughly 
propitiated.  “ I bid  you  good-mcrning,  gentlemen,” 


1 68 


FELIX  HOLT, 


When  he  was  gone  out,  and  had  closed  the  door  behind 
him,  Harold,  turning  round  and  flashing,  in  spite  of  him- 
self, an  angry  look  at  Jermyn,  said — 

“ And  who  is  Johnson  ? an  alias,  I suppose.  It  seems 
you  are  fond  of  the  name.” 

Jermyn  turned  perceptibly  paler,  but  disagreeables  of  this 
sort  between  himself  and  Harold  had  been  too  much  in  his 
anticipations  of  late  for  him  to  be  taken  by  surprise.  He 
turned  quietly  round  and  just  touched  the  shoulder  of  the 
person  seated  at  the  bureau,  who  now  rose. 

“On  the  contrary,”  Jermyn  answered,  “the  Johnson  in 
question  is  this  gentleman,  whom  I have  the  pleasure  of  in- 
troducing to  you  as  one  of  my  most  active  helpmates  in 
electioneering  business — Mr.  Johnson,  of  Bedford  Row,  Lon- 
don. I am  comparatively  a novice — a — in  these  matters. 
But  he  was  engaged  with  James  Putty  in  two  hardly-con- 
tested elections,  and  there  could  scarcely  be  a better  initia- 
tion. Putty  is  one  of  the  first  men  of  the  country  as  an 
agent — a — on  the  Liberal  side — a — eh,  Johnson?  I think 
Makepiece  is — a — not  altogether  a match  for  him,  not  quite 
of  the  same  calibre — a — haud  consimili  ingenio — a — in  tac- 
tics— a — and  in  experience  ?” 

“ Makepiece  is  a wonderful  man,  and  so  is  Putty,”  said 
the  glib  Johnson,  too  vain  not  to  be  pleased  with  an  oppor- 
tunity of  speaking,  even  when  the  situation  was  rather  awk- 
ward. “ Makepiece  for  scheming,  but  Putty  for  manage- 
ment. Putty  knows  men,  sir,”  he  went  on,  turning  to  Har- 
old : “ it’s  a thousand  pities  that  you  have  not  had  his  talents 
employed  in  your  service.  He’s  beyond  any  man  for  sav- 
ing a candidate’s  money — does  half  the  work  with  his  tongue. 
He’ll  talk  of  anything,  from  the  Areopagus,  and  that  sort  of 
thing,  down  to  the  joke  about  i Where  are  you  going.  Pad- 
dy ? ’ — you  know  what  I mean,  sir  ! ‘ Back  again,  says  Pad- 
dy ’ — an  excellent  electioneering  joke.  Putty  understands 
these  things.  He  has  said  to  me,  ‘ Johnson,  bear  in  mind 
there  are  two  ways  of  speaking  an  audience  will  always  like: 
one  is  to  tell  them  what  they  don’t  understand  ; and  the 
other  is,  to  tell  them  what  they’re  used  to.'  I shall  never  be 
the  man  to  deny  that  I owe  a great  deal  to  Putty.  I always 
say  it  was  a most  providential  thing  in  the  Mugham  election 
last  year  that  Putty  was  not  on  the  Tory  side.  He  man- 
aged the  women  ; and,  if  you’ll  believe  me,  sir,  one-fourth  of 
the  men  would  never  have  voted  if  their  wives  hadn’t  driven 
them  to  it  for  the  good  of  their  families,  And  as  for  speak- 


THE  RADICAL. 


169 

ing — it’s  currently  reported  in  our  London  circles  that  Putty 
writes  regularly  for  the  Times.  He  has  that  kind  of  lan- 
guage ; and  I needn’t  tell  you,  Mr.  Transome,  that  it’s  the 
apex,  which,  I take  it,  means  the  tiptop — and  nobody  can 
get  higher  than  that,  I think.  I’ve  belonged  to  a political 
debating  society  myself  ; I’ve  heard  a little  language  in  my 
time  ; but  when  Mr.  Jermyn  first  spoke  to  me  about  having 
the  honor  to  assist  in  your  canvass  of  North  Loamshire  ” — 
here  Johnson  played  with  his  watch-seals  and  balanced  him- 
self a moment  on  his  toes — ‘‘  the  very  first  thing  I said  was, 
‘And  there’s  Garstin  has  got  Putty!  No  Whig  could  stand 
against  a Whig,’  I said,  ‘ who  had  Putty  on  his  side  : I hope 
Mr,  Transome  goes  in  for  something  of  a deeper  color.’  I 
don’t  say  that,  as  a general  rule,  opinions  go  for  much  in  a 
return,  Mr.  Transome  ; it  depends  on  who  are  in  the  field 
before  you,  and  on  the  skill  of  your  agents.  But  as  a Radi- 
cal, and  a moneyed  Radical,  you  are  in  a fine  position,  sir  ; 
and  with  care  and  judgment — with  care  and  judgment ” 

It  had  been  impossible  to  interrupt  Johnson  before,  without 
the  most  impolitic  rudeness.  Jermyn  was  not  sorry  that  he 
should  talk,  even  if  he  made  a fool  of  himself  ; for  in  that  solid 
shape,  exhibiting  the  average  amount  of  human  foibles,  he 
seemed  less  of  the  alias  which  Harold  had  insinuated  him  to  be, 
and  had  all  the  additional  plausibility  of  a lie  with  a circum- 
stance. 

Harold  had  thrown  himself  with  contemptuous  resigna- 
tion into  a chair,  had  drawn  off  one  of  his  buff  gloves,  and 
was  looking  at  his  hand  But  when  Johnson  gave  his  itera- 
tion with  a slightly  slackened  pace,  Harold  looked  up  at 
him  and  broke  in — 

“ Well  then,  Mr.  Johnson,  I shall  be  glad  if  you  will  use  your 
care  and  judgment  in  putting  an  end,  as  well  as  you  can,  to 
this  Sproxton  affair;  else  it  may  turn  out  an  ugly  business.” 

“ Excuse  me,  sir  ; I must  beg  you  to  look  at  the  matter  a 
little  more  closely.  You  will  see  that  it  is  impossible  to  take 
a single  step  backward  at  Sproxton.  It  was  a matter  of 
necessity  to  get  the  Sproxton  men  ; else  I know  to  a certainty 
the  other  side  would  have  laid  hold  of  them  first,  and  now 
I’ve  undermined  Garstin’s  people.  They’ll  use  their  author- 
ity, and  give  a little  shabby  treating,  but  I’ve  taken  all  the 
wind  out  of  their  sails.  But  if,  by  your  orders,  I or  Mr. 
Jermyn  here  were  to  break  promise  with  the  honest  fellows, 
and  offend  Chubb  the  publican,  what  would  come  of  it  ? 
Chubb  would  leave  no  stone  unturned  against  you,  sir;  he 


FELIX  HOLT, 


170 

would  egg  on  his  customers  against  you  ; the  colliers  and 
navvies  would  be  at  the  nomination  and  the  election  all  the 
same,  or  rather  not  all  the  same,  for  they  would  be  there 
against  us  ; and  instead  of  hustling  people  good-humoredly 
by  way  of  a joke,  and  counterbalancing  Debarry’s  cheers, 
they’d  help  to  kick  the  cheering  and  voting  out  of  our  men, 
and  instead  of  being,  let  us  say,  half-a-dozen  ahead  of  Gars- 
tin,  you’d  be  half-a-dozen  behind  him,  that’s  all.  I speak 
plain  English  to  you,  Mr.  Transome,  though  I’ve  the  highest 
respect  for  you  as  a gentleman  of  first-rate  talents  and  posi- 
tion. But,  sir,  to  judge  of  these  things  a man  must  know  the 
English  voter  and  the  English  publican ; and  it  would  be  a poor 
tale  indeed  ” — here  Mr.  Johnson’s  mouth  took  an  expression 
at  once  bitter  and  pathetic — “ that  a gentleman  like  you,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  good  of  the  country, should  have  gone  to  the 
expense  and  trouble  of  a canvass  for  nothing  but  to  find  him- 
self out  of  Parliament  at  the  end  of  it.  I’ve  seen  it  again  and 
again;  it  looks  bad  in  the  cleverest  man  to  have  to  sing  small.” 
Mr.  Johnson’s  argument  was  not  the  less  stringent  because 
his  idioms  were  vulgar.  It  requires  a conviction  and  reso- 
lution amounting  to  heroism  not  to  wince  at  phrases  that 
class  our  foreshadowed  endurance  among  those  common  and 
ignominious  troubles  which  the  world  is  more  likely  to  sneer 
at  than  to  pity.  Harold  remained  a few  minutes  in  angry 
silence  looking  at  the  floor,  with  one  hand  on  his  knee  and 
the  other  on  his  hat,  as  if  he  were  preparing  to  start  up. 

“As  to  undoing  anything  that’s  been  done  down  there,” 
said  Johnson,  throwing  in  this  observation  as  something  in*o 
the  bargain,  “ I must  wash  my  hands  of  it,  sir.  I couldn’t 
work  knowingly  against  your  interest.  And  that  young  man 
who  is  just  gone  out, — you  don’t  believe  that  he  need  be 
listened  to,  I hope  ? Chubb,  the  publican,  hates  him.  Chul  b 
would  guess  he  was  at  the  bottom  of  your  having  the  treat- 
ing stopped,  and  he’d  set  half-a-dozen  of  the  colliers  to  duck 
him  in  the  canal,  or  break  his  head  by  mistake.  I’m  an  ex- 
perienced man,  sir.  I hope  I've  put  it  clear  enough.” 

“ Certainly,  the  exposition  befits  the  subject,”  said  Harold, 
scornfully,  his  dislike  of  the  man  Johnson’s  personality  being 
stimulated  by  causes  which  Jermyn  more  than  conjectured. 
“ It’s  a damned,  unpleasant,  ravelled  business  that  you  and 
Mr.  Jermyn  have  knit  up  between  you.  I’ve  no  more  to  say.” 
“ Then,  sir,  if  you’ve  no  more  commands,  I don’t  wish  to 
intrude.  I shall  wish  you  good-morning,  sir,”  said  Johnson, 
passing  out  quickly. 


THE  RADICAL. 


171 

Harold  knew  that  he  was  indulging  his  temper,  and  he 
would  probably  have  restrained  it  as  a foolish  move  if  he 
had  thought  there  was  great  danger  in  it.  But  he  was  begin- 
ning to  drop  much  of  his  caution  and  self-mastery  where 
Jermyn  was  concerned,  under  the  growing  conviction  that 
the  attorney  had  very  strong  reasons  for  being  afraid  of  him; 
reasons  which  would  only  be  reinforced  by  any  action  hostile 
to  the  Transome  interest.  As  for  a sneak  like  this  Johnson, 
a gentleman  had  to  pay  him,  not  to  please  him.  Harold 
had  smiles  at  command  in  the  right  place,  but  he  was  not 
going  to  smile  when  it  was  neither  necessary  nor  agreeable. 
He  was  one  of  those  good-humored,  yet  energetic  men,  who 
have  the  gift  of  anger,  hatred,  and  scorn  upon  occasion, 
though  they  are  too  healthy  and  self-contented  for  such  feel- 
ings to  get  generated  in  them  without  external  occasion.  And 
in  relation  to  Jermyn  the  gift  was  coming  into  fine  exercise. 

“ A — pardon  me,  Mr.  Harold, ” said  Jermyn,  speaking  as 
soon  as  Johnson  went  out,  “ but  I am  sorry — a — you  should 
behave  disobligingly  to  a man  who  has  it  in  his  power  to  do 
much  service — who,  in  fact,  holds  many  threads  in  his 
hands.  I admit  that — a — nemo  mortalium  omnibus  horis 
sapit , as  we  say — a ” 

“ Speak  for  yourself,”  said  Harold.  “ I don't  talk  in  tags 
of  Latin,  which  might  be  learned  by  a school-master’s  foot- 
boy.  I find  the  King’s  English  expresses  my  meaning  better.” 
“ In  the  King’s  English,  then,”  said  Jermyn,  who  could 
be  idiomatic  enough  when  he  was  stung,  “a  candidate  should 
keep  his  kicks  till  he’s  a member.” 

“ Oh,  I suppose  Johnson  will  bear  a kick  if  you  bid  him. 
You’re  his  principal,  I believe.” 

“ Certainly,  thus  far — a— he  is  my  London  agent.  But  he 

is  a man  of  substance,  and ” 

“ I shall  know  what  he  is  if  it’s  necessary,  I dare  say. 
But  I must  jump  into  the  carriage  again.  I’ve  no  time  to 
lose  ; I must  go  to  Hawkins  at  the  factory.  Will  you  go  ?” 
When  Harold  was  gone,  Jermyn’s  handsome  face  gath- 
ered blackness.  He  hardly  ever  wore  his  worst  expression 
in  the  presence  of  others,  and  but  seldom  when  he  was 
alone,  for  he  was  not  given  to  believe  that  any  game  would 
ultimately  go  against  him.  His  luck  had  been  good.  New 
conditions  might  always  turn  up  to  give  him  new  chances  ; 
and  if  affairs  threatened  to  come  to  an  extremity  between 
Harold  and  himself,  he  trusted  to  finding  some  sure  resource. 
“ He  means  to  see  to  the  bottom  of  everything  if  he  can, 


172 


FELIX  HOLT, 


that’s  quite  plain,”  said  Jermyn  to  himself.  “ I believe  he 
has*been  getting  another  opinion  ; he  has  some  new  light 
about  those  annuities  on  the  estate  that  are  held  in  Johnson’s 
name.  He  has  inherited  a deuced  faculty  for  business — 
there’s  no  denying  tha*  But  I shall  beg  leave  to  tell  him 
that  I’ve  propped  up  the  family.  I don’t  know  where  they 
would  have  been  without  me  ; and  if  it  comes  to  balancing, 
I know  into  which  scale  [the  gratitude  ought  to  go.  Not 
that  he’s  likely  to  feel  any — but  he  can  feel  something  else  ; 
and  if  he  makes  signs  of  setting  the  dogs  on  me,  I shall 
make  him  feel  it.  The  people  named  Transome  owe  me  a 
good  deal  more  than  I owe  them.” 

In  this  way  Mr.  Jermyn  inwardly  appealed  against  an 
unjust  construction  which  he  foresaw  that  his  old  acquaint- 
ance the  law  might  put  on  certain  items  in  his  history. 

I have  known  persons  who  have  been  suspected  of  under- 
valuing gratitude,  and  excluding  it  from  the  list  of  virtues  ; 
but  on  closer  observation  it  has  been  seen  that,  if  they  have 
never  felt  grateful,  it  has  been  for  want  of  an  opportunity  ; 
and  that,  far  from  despising  gratitude,  they  regard  it  as  the 
virtue  most  of  all  incumbent — on  others  toward  them. 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

The  little,  nameless,  unremembered  acts 
Of  kindness  and  of  love. 

— Wordsworth:  Tintern  Abbey. 

Jermyn  did  not  forget  to  pay  his  visit  to  the  minister  in 
Malthouse  Yard  that  evening.  The  mingled  irritation, 
dread  and  defiance  which  he  was  feeling  toward  Harold 
Transome  in  the  middle  of  the  day  depended  on  too  many 
and  far-stretching  causes  to  be  dissipated  by  eight  o’clock  ; 
but  when  he  left  Mr.  Lyon’s  house  he  was  in  a state  of 
comparative  triumph  in  the  belief  that  he,  and  he  alone, 
was  now  in  possession  of  facts  which,  once  grouped  together, 
made  a secret  that  gave  him  new  power  over  Harold.. 

Mr.  Lyon,  in  his  need  for  help  from  one  who  had  that 
wisdom  of  the  serpent  which,  he  argued,  is  not  forbidden, 
but  is  only  of  hard  acquirement  to  dovelike  innocence,  had 
been  gradually  led  to  pour  out  to  the  attorney  all  the  rea- 
sons which  made  him  desire  to  know  the  truth  about  the 
man  who  called  himself  Maurice  Christian  : he  had  shown 
all  the  precious  relics,  the  locket,  the  letters,  and  the  mar- 
riage certificate.  And  Jermyn  had  comforted  him  by  con- 
fidently promising  to  ascertain,  without  scandal  or  prema- 


THE  RADICAL.  I 73 

ture  betrayals,  whether  this  man  were  really  Annette’s  hus- 
band, or  Maurice  Christian  Bycliffe. 

Jermyn  was  not  rash  in  making  this  promise,  since  he 
had  excellent  reasons  for  believing  that  he  had  already 
come  to  a true  conclusion  on  the  subject.  But  he  wished 
both  to  know  a little  more  of  this  man  himself,  and  to  keep 
Mr.  Lyon  in  ignorance — not  a difficult  precaution — in  an 
affair  which  it  cost  the  minister  so  much  pain  to  speak  of. 
An  easy  opportunity  of  getting  an  interview  with  Christian 
was  sure  to  offer  itself  before  long — might  even  offer  itself 
to-morrow.  Jermyn  had  seen  him  more  than  once,  though 
hitherto  without  any  reason  for  observing  him  with  interest ; 
he  had  heard  that  Philip  Debarry’s  courier  was  often  busy 
in  the  town,  and  it  seemed  specially  likely  that  he  would  be 
seen  there  when  the  market  was  to  be  agitated  by  politics, 
and  the  new  candidate  was  to  show  his  paces. 

The  world  of  which  Treby  Magna  was  the  centre  was, 
naturally,  curious  to  see  the  young  Transome,  who  had 
come  from  the  East,  was  as  rich  as  a Jew,  and  called  him- 
self a Radical — characteristics  all  equally  vague  in  the 
minds  of  various  excellent  ratepayers,  who  drove  to  market 
in  their  taxed  carts  or  in  their  hereditary  gigs.  Places  at 
convenient  windows  had  been  secured  beforehand  for  a 
few  best  bonnets  ; but,  in  general,  a Radical  candidate 
excited  no  ardent  feminine  partisanship,  even  among  the 
Dissenters  in  Treby,  if  they  were  of  the  prosperous  and 
long-resident  class.  Some  chapel-going  ladies  were  fond  of 
remembering  that  “ their  family  had  been  Church  ” ; others 
objected  to  politics  altogether  as  having  spoiled  old  neigh- 
borliness, and  sundered  friends  who  had  kindred  views 
as  to  cowslip  wine  and  Michaelmas  cleaning  ; others,  of 
the  melancholy  sort,  said  it  would  be  well  if  people  would 
think  less  of  reforming  Parliament  and  more  of  pleasing 
God.  Irreproachable  Dissenting  matrons,  like  Mrs.  Muscat, 
whose  youth  had  been  passed  in  a short-waisted  bodice 
and  tight  skirt,  had  never  been  animated  by  the  struggle 
for  liberty,  and  had  a timid  suspicion  that  religion  was 
desecrated  by  being  applied  to  the  things  of  this  world. 
Since  Mr.  Lyon  had  been  in  Malthouse  Yard  there  had 
been  far  too  much  mixing  up  of  politics  with  religion  ; but, 
at  any  rate,  these  ladies  had  never  yet  been  to  hear  speech- 
ifying in  the  market-place,  and  they  were  not  going  to  begin 
that  practice. 

Esther,  however,  had  heard  some  of  her  feminine  acquain- 


174 


FELIX  HOLT, 


tances  say  that  they  intended  to  sit  at  the  druggist’s  upper 
window,  and  she  was  inclined  to  ask  her  father  if  he  could 
think  of  a suitable  place  where  she  also  might  see  and  hear. 
Two  inconsistent  motives  urged  her.  She  knew  that  Felix 
cared  earnestly  for  public  questions,  and  she  supposed  that 
he  held  it  one  of  her  deficiencies  not  to  care  about  them  : 
well,  she  would  try  to  learn  the  secret  of  this  ardor,  which 
was  so  strong  in  him  that  it  animated  what  she  thought  the 
dullest  form  of  life.  She  was  not  too  stupid  to  find  it  out. 
But  this  self-correcting  motive  was  presently  displaced  by  a 
motive  of  a different  sort.  It  had  been  a pleasant  variety 
in  her  monotonous  days  to  see  a man  like  Harold  Transome, 
with  a distinguished  appearance  and  polished  manners,  and 
she  would  like  to  see  him  again  : he  suggested  to  her  that 
brighter  and  more  luxurious  life  on  which  her  imagination 
dwelt  without  the  painful  effort  it  required  to  conceive  the 
mental  condition  which  would  place  her  in  complete  sympathy 
with  Felix  Holt.  It  was  this  less  unaccustomed  prompting 
of  which  she  was  chiefly  conscious  when  she  awaited  her 
father’s  coming  down  to  breakfast.  Why,  indeed,  should  she 
trouble  herself  so  much  about  Felix  ? 

Mr.  Lyon,  more  serene  now  that  he  had  unbosomed  his 
anxieties  and  obtained  a promise  of  help,  was  already  swim- 
ming so  happily  in  the  deep  water  of  polemics  in  expectation 
of  Philip  Debarry’s  answer  to  his  challenge,  that,  in  the  oc- 
cupation of  making  a few  notes  lest  certain  felicitous  inspir- 
ations should  be  wasted,  he  had  forgotten  to  come  down  to 
breakfast.  Esther,  suspecting  his  abstraction,  went  up  to  his 
study,  and  found  him  at  his  desk  looking  up  with  wonder  at 
her  interruption. 

“ Come,  father,  you  have  forgotten  your  breakfast.” 

“ It  is  true,  child,  I will  come,”  he  said,  lingering  to  make 
some  final  strokes. 

“ Oh,  you  naughty  father  ! ” said  Esther,  as  he  got  up  from 
his  chair,  “ your  coat-collar  is  twisted,  your  waistcoat  is  but- 
toned all  wrong,  and  you  have  not  brushed  your  hair.  Sit 
down  and  let  me  brush  it  again  as  I did  yesterday.” 

He  sat  down  obediently,  while  Esther  took  a towel,  which 
she  threw  over  his  shoulders,  and  then  brushed  the  thick, 
long  fringe  of  soft  auburn  hair.  This  very  trifling  act,  which 
she  had  brought  herself  to  for  the  first  time  yesterday,  meant 
a great  deal  in  Esther’s  little  history.  It  had  been  her  habit 
to  leave  the  mending  of  her  father’s  clothes  to  Lyddy ; she 
had  not  liked  even  to  touch  his  cloth  garments  ; still  less  had 


THE  RADICAL. 


*75 


it  seemed  a thing  she  would  willingly  undertake  to  correct  his 
toilette,  and  use  a brush  for  him.  But  having  once  done  this, 
under  her  new  sense  of  faulty  omission,  the  affectionateness 
that  was  in  her  flowed  so  pleasantly,  as  she  saw  how  much  her 
father  was  moved  by  what  he  thought  a great  act  of  tenderness, 
that  she  quite  longed  to  repeat  it.  This  morning,  as  he  sat 
under  her  hands,  his  face  had  such  a calm  delight  in  it  that, 
she  could  not  help  kissing  the  top  of  his  bald  head;  and  after- 
ward, when  they  were  seated  at  breakfast,  she  said,  merrily — 

“ Father,  I shall  make  a petit  maitre  of  you  by-and-by ; 
your  hair  looks  so  pretty  and  silken  when  it  is  well  brushed.” 

“ Nay,  child,  I trust  that  while  I would  willingly  depart 
from  my  evil  habit  of  a somewhat  slovenly  forgetfulness  in  my 
attire,  I shall  never  arrive  at  the  opposite  extreme.  For 
though  there  is  that  in  apparel  which  pleases  the  eye,  and  I 
deny  not  that  your  neat  gown  and  the  color  thereof — which 
is  that  of  certain  little  flowers  that  spread  themselves  in  the 
hedgerows,  and  make  a blueness  there  as  of  the  sky  when  it  is 
deepened  in  the  water — I deny  not,  I say,  that  these  minor 
strivings  after  a perfection  which  is,  as  it  were,  an  irrecovera- 
ble yet  haunting  memory,  are  a good  in  their  proportion. 
Nevertheless,  the  brevity  of  our  life,  and  the  hurry  and  crush 
of  the  great  battle  with  error  and  sin,  often  oblige  us  to  an  ad- 
vised neglect  of  what  is  less  momentous.  This,  I conceive, 
is  the  principle  on  which  my  friend  Felix  Holt  acts;  and  I 
cannot  but  think  the  light  comes  from  the  true  fount,  though 
it  shines  through  obstructions.” 

“ You  have  not  seen  Mr.  Holt  since  Sunday,  have  you, 
father  ? ” 

“ Yes,  he  was  here  yesterday.  He  sought  Mr.  Transome, 
having  a matter  of  some  importance  to  speak  upon  with  him. 
And  I saw  him  afterward  in  the  street,  when  he  agreed  that 
I should  call  for  him  this  morning  before  I go  into  the  mar- 
ket-place. He  will  have  it,”  Mr.  Lyon  went  on,  smiling, 

“ that  I must  not  walk  about  in  the  crowd  without  him  to  act 
as  my  special  constable.” 

Esther  felt  vexed  with  herself  that  her  heart  was  suddenly 
beating  with  unusual  quickness,  and  that  her  last  resolution 
not  to  trouble  herself  about  what  Felix  thought  had  trans- 
formed itself  with  magic  swiftness  into  mortification  that  he 
evidently  avoided  coming  to  the  house  when  she  was  there, 
though  he  used  to  come  on  the  slightest  occasion.  He  knew 
that  she  was  always  at  home  until  the  afternoon  on  market- 
days  : that  was  the  reason  why  he  would  not  call  for  her 


176 


FELIX  HOLT, 


father.  Of  course  it  was  because  he  attributed  such  little- 
ness to  her  that  he  supposed  she  would  retain  nothing  else 
than  a feeling  of  offence  toward  him  for  what  he  had  said  to 
her.  Such  distrust  of  any  good  in  others,  such  arrogance  of 
immeasurable  superiority,  was  extremely  ungenerous  But 
presently  she  said — 

“ I should  have  liked  to  hear  Mr.  Transome  speak,  but  I 
suppose  it  is  too  late  to  get  a place  now.” 

“ I am  not  sure,  I would  fain  have  you  go  if  you  desire  it, 
my  dear,”  said  Mr.  Lyon,  who  could  not  bear  to  deny  Esther 
any  lawful  wish.  “ Walk  with  me  to  Mrs.  Holt’s,  and  we 
will  learn  from  Felix,  who  will  doubtless  already  have  been 
out,  whether  or  not  he  could  lead  you  in  safety  to  Friend 
Lambert’s.” 

Esther  was  glad  of  the  proposal,  because,  if  it  answered 
no  other  purpose,  it  would  be  an  easy  way  of  obliging  Felix 
to  see  her,  and  of  showing  him  that  it  was  not  she  who  cher- 
ished offence.  But  when,  later  in  the  morning,  she  was  walk- 
ing toward  Mrs.  Holt’s  with  her  father,  they  met  Mr.  Jermyn, 
who  stopped  them  to  ask,  in  his  most  affable  manner,  whether 
Miss  Lyon  intended  to  hear  the  candidate,  and  whether  she 
had  secured  a suitable  place.  And  he  ended  by  insisting 
that  his  daughters,  who  were  presently  coming  in  an  open 
carriage,  should  call  for  her  if  she  would  permit  them.  It 
was  impossible  to  refuse  this  civility,  and  Esther  turned 
back  to  await  the  carriage,  pleased  with  the  certainty  of  hear- 
ing and  seeing,  yet  sorry  to  miss  Felix.  There  was  another 
day  for  her  to  think  of  him  with  unsatisfied  resentment,  mixed 
with  some  longings  for  a better  understanding:  and  in  our 
spring-time  every  day  has  its  hidden  growths  in  the  mind,  as 
it  has  in  the  earth  when  the  little  folded  blades  are  getting 
ready  to  pierce  the  ground. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Consistency  ? — I never  changed  my  mind, 

Which  is,  and  always  was,  to  live  at  ease- 

It  was  only  in  the  time  of  summer  fairs  that  the  market- 
place had  ever  looked  more  animated  than  it  did  under  that 
autumn  midday  sun.  There  were  plenty  of  blue  cockades 
and  streamers,  faces  at  all  the  windows,  and  a crushing  buz- 
zing crowd,  urging  each  other  backward  and  forward  round 
the  small  hustings  in  front  of  the  Ram  Inn,  which  showed 
its  more  plebeian  sign  at  right  angles  with  the  venerable 
Marquis  of  Granby.  Sometimes  there  were  scornful  shouts, 


The  radical. 


177 


Sometimes  a rolling  cascade  of  cheers,  sometimes  the  shriek  of 
a penny  whistle  ; but  above  all  these  fitful  and  feeble  sounds, 
the  fine  old  church-tower,  which  looked  down  from  above  the 
trees  on  the  other  side  of  the  narrow  stream,  sent  vibrating, 
at  every  quarter,  the  sonorous  tones  of  its  great  bell,  the  Good 
Queen  Bess. 

Two  carriages,  with  blue  ribbons  on  the  harness,  were 
conspicuous  near  the  hustings.  One  was  Jermyn’s,  filled 
with  the  brilliantly.- attired  daughters,  accompanied  by  Esther, 
whose  quieter  dress  helped  to  mark  her  out  for  attention  as 
the  most  striking  od  the  group.  The  other  was  Harold  Tran- 
some’s  ; but  in  this  there  was  no  lady — only  the  olive-skinned 
Dominic,  whose  acute  yet  mild  face  was  brightened  by  the 
occupation  of  amusing  little  Harry  and  rescuing  from  his 
tyrannies  a King  Charles  puppy,  with  big  eyes,  much  after  the 
pattern  of  the  boy’s. 

This  Trebian  crowd  did  not  count  for  much  in  the  politi- 
cal force  of  the  nation,  but  it  was  not  the  less  determined  as 
to  lending  or  not  lending  its  ears.  No  man  was  permitted  to 
speak  from  the  platform  except  Harold  and  his  uncle  Lin- 
gon,  though,  in  the  interval  of  expectation,  several  Liberals 
had  come  forward.  Among  these  ill-advised  persons  the  one 
whose  attempt  met  the  most  emphatic  resistance  was  Rufus 
Lyon.  This  might  have  been  taken  for  resentment  at  the 
unreasonableness  of  the  cloth,  that,  not  content  with  pulpits, 
from  whence  to  tyrannize  over  the  ears  of  men,  wishes  to 
have  the  larger  share  of  the  platforms  ; but  it  was  not  so, 
for  Mr.  Lingon  was  heard  with  much  cheering,  and  would 
have  been  welcomed  again. 

The  rector  of  Little  Treby  had  been  a favorite  in  the 
neighborhood  since  the  beginning  of  the  century.  A clergy- 
man .thoroughly  unclerical  in  his  habits  had  a piquancy 
about  him  which  made  him  a sort  of  practical  joke.  He  had 
always  been  called  Jack  Lingon,  or  Parson  Jack — -sometimes, 
in  older  and  less  serious  days,  even  “ Cock-fighting  Jack.” 
He  swore  a little  when  the  point  of  a joke  seemed  to  demand 
it,  and  was  fond  of  wearing  a colored  bandana  tied  loosely 
over  his  cravat,  together  with  large  brown  leather  leggings  ; 
he  spoke  in  a pithy  familiar  way  that  people  could  under- 
stand, and  had  none  of  that  frigid  mincingness  called  dig- 
nity, which  some  have  thought  a peculiar  clerical  disease. 
In  fact,  he  was  “a  charicter — ” something  cheerful  to  think 
of,  not  entirely  out  of  connection  with  Sunday  and  sermons. 
And  it  seemed  in  keeping  that  he  should  have  turned  sharo 


i78 


FELIX  HOLT, 


round  in  politics,  his  opinions  being  only  part  of  the  excel- 
lent joke  called  Parson  Jack.  When  his  red  eagle  face  and 
white  hair  were  seen  on  the  platform,  the  Dissenters  hardly 
cheered  this  questionable  Radical  ; but  to  make  amends,  all 
the  Tory  farmers  gave  him  a friendly  “ hurray. ” “ Let’s 

hear  what  old  Jack  will  say  for  himself,”  was  the  predomi- 
nant feeling  among  them  ; “ he’ll  have  something  funny  to 
say,  I’ll  bet  a penny.” 

It  was  only  Lawyer  Labron’s  young  clerks  and  their  hang- 
ers-on who  were  sufficiently  dead  to  Trebian  traditions  to 
assail  the  parson  with  various  sharp-edged  interjections, 
such  as  broken  shells,  and  cries  of  “ Cock-a-doodle-doo.” 

“ Come  now,  my  lads,”  he  began,  in  his  full,  pompous,  yet 
jovial  tones,  thrusting  his  hands  into  the  stuffed-out  pockets 
of  his  great-coat,  “ I’ll  tell  you  what  ; I’m  a parson  you  know; 
I ought  to  return  good  for  evil.  So  here  are  some  good  nuts 
for  you  to  crack  in  return  for  your  shells.” 

There  was  a roar  of  laughter  and  cheering  as  he  threw 
handfuls  of  nuts  and  filberts  among  the  crowd. 

“ Come  now,  you’ll  say  I used  to  be  a Tory  ; and  some  of 
you,  whose  faces  I know  as  well  as  I know  the  head  of  my 
own  crab-stick,  will  say  that’s  why  I’m  a good  fellow.  But 
now  I’ll  tell  you  something  else.  It’s  for  that  very  reason — 
that  I used  to  be  a Tory,  and  am  a good  fellow — that  I go 
along  with  my  nephew  here,  who  is  a thorough-going  Liberal. 
For  will  anybody  here  come  forward  and  say,  6 A good  fel- 
low has  no  need  to  tack  about  and  change  his  road  ? ’ No, 
there’s  not  one  of  you  such  a Tom-noddy.  What’s  good  for 
one  time  is  bad  for  another.  If  anybody  contradicts  that, 
ask  him  to  eat  pickled  pork  when  he’s  thirsty,  and  to  bathe  in 
the  Lapp  there  when  the  spikes  of  ice  are  shooting.  And 
that’s  the  reason  why  the  men  who  are  the  best  Liberals  now 
are  the  very  men  who  used  to  be  the  best  Tories.  There 
isn’t  a nastier  horse  than  your  horse  that’ll  jib  and  back  and 
turn  round  when  there  is  but  one  road  for  him  to  go,  and 
that’s  the  road  before  him. 

“ And  my  nephew  here — he  comes  of  a Tory  breed,  you 
know — I’ll  answer  for  the  Lingons.  In  the  old  Tory  times 
there  was  never  a pup  belonged  to  a Lingon  but  would  howl 
if  a Whig  came  near  him.  The  Lingon  blood  is  good,  rich 
old  Tory  blood — like  good  rich  milk — and  that’s  why,  when 
the  right  time  comes,  it  throws  up  a Liberal  cream.  The 
best  sort  of  Tory  turns  to  the  best  sort  of  Radical.  There’s 
olenty  of  Radical  scum — I say,  beware  of  the  scum,  and  look 


THE  RADICAL. 


179 


out  for  the  cream.  And  here’s  my  nephew — some  of  the 
cream,  if  there  is  any  : none  of  your  Whigs,  none  of  your 
painted  water  that  looks  as  if  it  ran,  and  it’s  standing  still  all 
the  while  ; none  of  your  spinning-jenny  fellows.  A gentle- 
man ; but  up  to  all  sorts  of  business.  I’m  no  fool  myself  ; 
I’m  forced  to  wink  a good  deal,  for  fear  of  seeing  too  much, 
for  a neighborly  man  must  let  himself  be  cheated  a little. 
But  though  I’ve  never  been  out  of  my  own  country,  I know 
less  about  it  than  my  nephew  does.  You  may  tell  what  he 
is,  and  only  look  at  him.  There’s  one  sort  of  fellow  sees 
nothing  but  the  end  of  his  own  nose,  and  another  sort  that 
sees  nothing  but  the  hinder  side  of  the  moon  ; but  my  nephew 
Harold  is  of  another  sort  ; he  sees  everything  that’s  at  hitting 
distance,  and  he’s  not  one  to  miss  his  mark.  A good-look- 
ing man  in  his  prime  ! Not  a greenhorn  ; not  a shrivelled 
old  fellow,  who’ll  come  to  speak  to  you  and  find  he’s  left  his 
teeth  at  home  by  mistake.  Harold  Transome  will  do  you 
credit  ; if  anybody  says  the  Radicals  are  a set  of  sneaks, 
Brummagem  half-pennies,  scamps  who  want  to  play  pitch- 
and-toss  with  the  property  of  the  country,  you  can  say,  ‘ Look 
at  the  member  for  North  Loamshire  ! ’ And  mind  what 
you’ll  hear  him  say  ; he’ll  go  in  for  making  everything  right 
— Poor-laws  and  Charities  and  Church — he  wants  to  reform 
’em  all.  Perhaps  you’ll  say,  ‘ There’s  that  Parson  Lingon 
talking  about  Church  Reform — why,  he,  belongs  to  the 
Church  himself — he  wants  reforming  too.’  Well,  well,  wait 
a bit,  and  you’ll  hear  by-and-by  that  old  Parson  Lingon  is 
reformed — shoots  no  more,  cracks  his  joke  no  more,  has 
drunk  his  last  bottle  : the  dogs,  the  old  pointers,  will  be 
sorry  ; but  you’ll  hear  that  the  Parson  at  Little  Treby  is  a new 
man.  That’s  what  Church  Reform  is  sure  to  come  to  before 
long.  So  now  here  are  some  more  nuts  for  you,  lads,  and  I 
leave  you  to  listen  to  your  candidate.  Here  he  is — give  him 
a good  hurray  ; wave  your  hats,  and  I’ll  begin.  Hurray  ! ” 
Harold  had  not  been  quite  confident  beforehand  as  to  the 
good  effect  of  his  uncle’s  introduction  ; but  he  was  soon  re- 
assured. There  was  no  acrid  partisanship  among  the  old- 
fashioned  Tories  who  mustered  strong  about  the  Marquis  of 
Granby,  and  Parson  Jack  had  put  them  in  a good  humor. 
Harold’s  only  interruption  came  from  his  own  party.  The 
oratorical  clerk  at  the  Factory,  acting  as  the  tribune  of  the 
Dissenting  interest,  and  feeling  bound  to  put  questions, 
might  have  been  troublesome  ; but  his  voice  being  un- 
pleasantly sharp,  while  Harold’s  was  full  and  penetrating, 


i8o 


FELIX  HOLT, 


the  questioning  was  cried  down.  Harold’s  speech  “ did  ” : 
it  was  not  of  the  glib-nonsensical  sort,  not  ponderous,  not 
hesitating — which  is  as  much  as  to  say,  that  it  was  remark- 
able among  British  speeches.  Read  in  print  the  next  day, 
perhaps  it  would  be  neither  pregnant  nor  conclusive,  which 
is  saying  no  more  than  that  its  excellence  was  not  of  an 
abnormal  kind,  but  such  as  is  usually  found  in  the  best  efforts 
of  eloquent  candidates.  Accordingly,  the  applause  drowned 
the  opposition,  and  content  predominated. 

But,  perhaps,  the  moment  of  most  diffusive  pleasure  from 
public  speaking  is  that  in  which  the  speech  ceases  and  the 
audience  can  turn  to  commenting  on  it.  The  one  speech,  some- 
times uttered  under  great  responsibilityas  to  missiles  and  other 
consequences, has  given  a text  to  twentyspeakers  who  are  under 
no  responsibility.  Even  in  the  days  of  duelling  a man  was 
not  challenged  for  being  a bore,?nor  does  this  quality  appar- 
ently hinder  him  from  being  much  invited  to  dinner,  which 
is  the  great  index  of  social  responsibilityin  a less  barbarous  age. 

Certainly  the  crowd  in  the  market-place  seemed  to  ex- 
perience this  culminating  enjoyment  when  the  speaking  on 
the  platform  in  front  of  the  Ram  had  ceased,  and  there  were 
no  less  than  three  orators  holding  forth  from  the  elevation 
of  chance  vehicles,  not  at  all  to  the  prejudice  of  the  talking 
among  those  who  were  on  a level  with  their  neighbors. 
There  was  little  •ill-humor  among  the  listeners,  for  Queen 
Bess  was  striking  the  last  quarter  before  two,  and  a savory 
smell  from  the  inn  kitchens  inspired  them  with  an  agreeable 
consciousness  that  the  speakers  were  helping  to  trifle  away 
the  brief  time  before  dinner. 

Two  or  three  of  Harold’s  committee  had  lingered  talking 
to  each  other  on  the  platform,  instead  of  re-entering  ; and 
Jermyn,  after  coming  out  to  speak  to  one  of  them,  had 
turned  to  the  corner  near  which  the  carriages  were  stand- 
ing, that  he  might  tell  the  Transome’s  coachman  to  drive 
round  to  the  side  door  and  signal  to  his  own  coachman  to 
follow.  But  a dialogue  which  was'  going  on  below  induced 
him  to  pause,  and  instead  of  giving  the  order,  to  assume  the 
air  ^ z.  careless  gazer.  Christian,  whom  the  attorney  had 
already  observed  looking  out  of  a window  at  the  Marquis  of 
Granby,  was  talking  to  Dominic.  The  meeting  appeared  to 
be  one  of  new  recognition,  for  Christian  was  saying  : 

“ You’ve  not  got  gray,  as  I have,  Mr.  Lenoni ; you’re  not 
v Jay  older  for  the  sixteen  years.  But  no  wonder  you  didn’t 
know  me ; I’m  bleached  like  a dried  bone.” 


THE  RADICAL. 


l8i 

“ Not  so.  It  is  true  I was  confused  a meenute — I could 
put  your  face  nowhere  ; but,  after  that,  Naples  came  behind 
it,  and  I said,  Mr.  Creesstian.  And  so  you  reside  at  the 
Manor,  and  I am  at  Transome  Court.” 

“ Ah  ! it’s  a thousand  pities  you’re  not  on  our  side,  else 
we  might  have  dined  together  at  the  Marquis,”  said  Chris- 
tian. a Eh,  could  you  manage  it?”  he  added,  languidly, 
knowing  there  was  no  chance  of  a yes. 

“ No — much  obliged — couldn’t  leave  the  leetle  boy.  Ahi  ! 
Arry,  Arry,  pinch  not  poor  Moro.” 

While  Dominic  was  answering,  Christian  had  stared  about 
him,  as  his  manner  was  when  he  was  being  spoken  to,  and 
had  had  his  eyes  arrested  by  Esther,  who  was  leaning  for- 
ward to  look  at  Mr.  Harold  Transome’s  extraordinary  little 
gypsy  of  a son.  But,  happening  to  meet  Christian’s  stare,  she 
felt  annoyed,  drew  back,  and  turned  away  her  head,  coloring. 

“ Who  are  those  ladies?”  said  Christian,  in  a low  tone,  to 
Dominic,  as  if  he  had  been  startled  into  a sudden  wish  for 
this  information. 

“ They  are  Meester  Jermyn’s  daughters,”  said  Dominic, 
who  knew  nothing  either  of  the  lawyer’s  family  or  of  Esther. 

Christian  looked  puzzled  a moment  or  two,  and  was  silent. 

“ Oh,  well — au  revoir ,”  he  said,  kissing  the  tips  of  his 
fingers  as  the  coachman,  having  had  Jermyn’s  order,  began 
to  urge  on  the  horses. 

“ Does  he  see  some  likeness  in  the  girl  ? ” thought  Jermyn, 
as  he  turned  away.  “ I wish  I hadn’t  invited  her  to  come 
in  the  carriage,  as  it  happens.” 

CHAPTER  XX. 

“ Good  earthenware  pitchers,  sir! — of  an  excellent  quaint  pattern  and  sober  color-’, 

The  market  dinner  at  “ the  Marquis  ” was  in  high  repute  in 
Treby  and  its  neighborhood.  The  frequenters  of  this  three- 
and-sixpenny  ordinary  liked  to  allude  to  it,  as  men  allude 
to  anything  which  implies  that  they  move  in  good  society, 
and  habitually  converse  with  those  who  are  in  the  secret  of 
the  highest  affairs.  The  guests  were  not  only  such  rural 
residents  as  had  driven  to  market,  but  some  of  the  most 
substantial  townsmen,  who  had  always  assured  their  wives 
that  business  required  this  weekly  sacrifice  of  domestic 
pleasure.  The  poorer  farmers,  who  put  up  at  the  Ram  or 
the  Seven  Stars,  where  there  was  no  fish,  felt  their  disadvan- 
tage, bearing  it  modestly  or  bitterly,  as  the  case  might  be; 


182 


FELIX  HOLT, 


and  although  the  Marquis  was  a Tory  house,  devoted  to 
Debarry,  it  was  too  much  to  expect  that  such  tenants  of  the 
Transomes  as  had  always  been  used  to  dine  there,  should 
consent  to  eat  a worse  dinner,  and  sit  with  worse  company, 
because  they  suddenly  found  themselves  under  a Radical 
landlord,  opposed  to  the  political  party  known  as  Sir  Maxim’s. 
Hence  the  recent  political  divisions  had  not  reduced  the 
handsome  length  of  the  table  at  the  Marquis  ; and  the  many 
gradations  of  dignity — -from  Mr.  Wace,  the  brewer,  to  the 
rich  butcher  from  Leek  Malton,  who  always  modestly  took 
the  lowest  seat,  though  without  the  reward  of  being  asked  to 
come  up  higher — had  not  been  abbreviated  by  any  secessions. 

To-day  there  was  an  extra  table  spread  for  expected 
supernumeraries,  and  it  was  at  this  that  Christian  took  his 
place  with  some  of  the  younger  farmers,  who  had  almost  a 
sense  of  dissipation  in  talking  to  a man  of  his  questionable 
station  and  unknown  experience.  The  provision  was  espe- 
cially liberal,  and  on  the  whole  the  presence  of  a minority 
destined  to  vote  for  Transome  was  a ground  for  joking, 
which  added  to  the  good  humor  of  the  chief  talkers.  A 
respectable  old  acquaintance  turned  Radical  rather  against 
his  will,  was  rallied  with  even  greater  gusto  than  if  his  wife 
had  had  twins  twice  over.  The  best  Trebian  Tories  were 
far  too  sweet-blooded  to  turn  against  such  old  friends,  and 
to  make  no  distinction  between  them  and  the  Radical,  Dis- 
senting, Papistical,  Deistical  set  with  whom  they  never  dined, 
and  probably  never  saw  except  in  their  imagination.  But 
the  talk  was  necessarily  in  abeyance  until  the  more  serious 
business  of  dinner  was  ended,  and  the  wine,  spirits,  and 
tobacco  raised  mere  satisfaction  into  beatitude. 

Among  the  frequent  though  not  regular  guests,  whom 
every  one  was  glad  to  see,  was  Mr.  Nolan,  the  retired  Lon- 
don hosier,  a wiry  old  gentleman  past  seventy,  whose  square, 
tight  forehead,  with  its  rigid  hedge  of  gray  hair,  whose 
bushy  eyebrows,  sharp  dark  eyes,  and  remarkable  hooked 
nose,  gave  a handsome  distinction  to  his  face  in  the  midst 
of  rural  physiognomies.  He  had  married  a Miss  Pendrell 
early  in  life,  when  he  was  a poor  young  Londoner,  and 
the  match  had  been  thought  as  bad  as  ruin  by  her  family  ; 
but  fifteen  years  ago  he  had  had  the  satisfaction  of  bring- 
ing his  wife  to  settle  amongst  her  own  friends,  and  of  being 
received  with  pride  as  a brother-in-law,  retired  from 
business,  possessed  of  unknown  thousands,  and  of  a most 
agreeable  talent  for  anecdote  and  conversation  generally. 


THE  RADICAL. 


183 

No  question  had  ever  been  raised  as  to  Mr.  Nolan’s  extrac- 
tion on  the  strength  of  his  hooked  nose,  or  of  his  name  be- 
ing Baruch.  Hebrew  names  “ ran  ” in  the  best  Saxon  fam- 
ilies ; the  Bible  accounted  for  them  ; and  no  one  among  the 
uplands  and  hedgerows  of  that  district  was  suspected  of 
having  an  oriental  origin  unless  he  carried  a peddler’s  jewel- 
box.  Certainly,  whatever  genealogical  research  might  have 
discovered,  the  worthy  Baruch  Nolan  was  so  free  from  any 
distinctive  marks  of  religious  persuasion — he  went  to  church 
with  so  ordinary  an  irregularity,  and  so  often  grumbled  at 
the  sermon — that  there  was  no  ground  for  classing  him  other- 
wise than  with  good  Trebian  Churchmen.  He  was  generally 
regarded  as  a good-looking  old  gentleman,,  and  a certain 
thin  eagerness  in  his  aspect  was  attributed  to  the  life  of  the 
metropolis,  where  narrow  space  had  the  same  sort  of  effect  on 
men  as  on  thickly-planted  trees.  Mr.  Nolan  always  ordered 
his  pint  of  port,  which,  after  he  had  sipped  it  a little,  was 
wont  to  animate  his  recollections  of  the  Royal  Family,  and 
the  various  ministries  which  had  been  contemporary  with 
the  successive  stages  of  his  prosperity.  He  was  always  lis- 
tened to  with  interest:  a man  who  had  been  born  in  the  year 
when  good  old  King  George  came  to  the  throne — who  had 
been  acquainted  with  the  nude  leg  of  the  Prince  Regent,  and 
hinted  at  private  reasons  for  believing  that  the  Princess 
Charlotte  ought  not  to  have  died — had  conversational  matter 
as  special  to  his  auditors  as  Marco  Polo  could  have  had  on 
his  return  from  his  Asiatic  travel. 

“ My  good  sir,”  he  said  to  Mr.  Wace,  as  he  crossed  his 
knees  and  spread  his  silk  handkerchief  over  them,  “ Tran- 
some  may  be  returned,  or  he  may  not  be  returned — that’s  a 
question  for  North  Loamshire  ; but  it  makes  little  difference 
to  the  kingdom.  I don’t  want  to  say  things  which  may  put 
younger  men  out  of  spirits,  but  I believe  this  country  has 
seen  it’s  best  days — I do,  indeed.” 

“ I am  sorry  to  hear  it  from  one  of  your  experience,  Mr. 
Nolan,”  said  the  brewer,  a large,  happy-looking  man.  “ I’d 
make  a good  fight  myself  before  I’d  leave  a worse  world  for 
my  boys  than  I’ve  found  for  myself.  There  isn’t  a greater 
pleasure  than  doing  a bit  of  planting  and  improving  one’s 
buildings,  and  investing  one’s  money  in  some  pretty  acres  of 
land,  and  when  it  turns  up  here  and  there — land  you’ve 
known  from  a boy.  It’s  a nasty  thought  that  these  Radicals 
are  to  turn  things  round  so  as  one  can  calculate  on  nothing. 
One  doesn’t  like  it  for  one’s  self,  and  one  doesn’t  like  it  for 


184 


FELIX  HOLT, 


one’s  neighbors.  But  somehow,  I believe  it  won’t  do  : if 
we  can’t  trust  the  Government  just  now,  there’s  Providence 
and  the  good  sense  of  the  country;  and  there’s  a right  in. 
things — that’s  what  I’ve  always  said — there’s  a right  in  things. 
The  heavy  end  will  get  downmost.  And  if  Church  and 
King,  and  every  man  being  sure  of  his  own,  are  things  good 
for  this  country,  there’s  a God  above  will  take  care  of  ’em.” 
“ It  won’t  do,  my  dear  sir,”  said  Mr.  Nolan — “ It  won’t 
do.  When  Peel  and  the  Duke  turned  round  about  the  Cath- 
olics in  ’29,  I saw  it  was  all  over  with  us.  We  could  never 
trust  ministers  any  more.  It  was  to  keep  off  a rebellion, 
they  said  ; but  I say  it  was  to  keep  their  places.  They’re 
monstrously  fond  of  place,  both  of  them — that  I know.” 
Here  Mr.  Nolan  changed  the  crossing  of  his  legs,  and  gave  a 
deep  cough,  conscious  of  having  made  a point.  Then  he 
went  on — “ What  we  want  is  a king  with  a good  will  of  his 
own.  If  we’d  had  that,  we  shouldn’t  have  heard  what  we’ve 
heard  to-day  ; Reform  would  never  have  come  to  this  pass. 
When  our  good  old  King  George  III.  heard  his  ministers 
talking  about  Catholic  Emancipation,  he  boxed  their  ears 
all  round.  Ah,  poor  soul!  he  did  indeed,  gentlemen,”  ended 
Mr.  Nolan,  shaken  by  a deep  laugh  of  admiration. 

“ Well,  now,  that’s  something  like  a king,”  said  Mr.  Crow- 
der, who  was  an  eager  listener. 

“ It  was  uncivil,  though.  How  did  they  take  it  ? ” said 
Mr.  Timothy  Rose,  a “ gentleman  farmer  ” from  Leek 
Malton,  against  whose  independent  position  nature  had 
provided  the  safeguard  of  a spontaneous  servility.  His  large 
porcine  cheeks,  round  twinkling  eyes,  and  thumbs  habitually 
twirling,  expressed  a concentrated  effort  not  to  get  into 
trouble,  and  to  speak  everybody  fair  except  when  they  were 
safely  out  of  hearing. 

“Take  it!  they’d  be  obliged  to  take  it,”  said  the  impetu- 
ous young  Joyce,  a farmer  of  superior  information.  “ Have 
you  ever  heard  of  the  king’s  prerogative  ? ” 

“ I don’t  say  but  what  I have,”  said  Rose,  retreating. 
“ I’ve  nothing  against  it — nothing  at  all.” 

“ No,  but  the  Radicals  have,”  said  young  Joyce,  wink- 
ing. “ The  prerogative  is  what  they  want  to  clip  close. 
They  want  us  to  be  governed  by  delegates  from  the  trades- 
unions,  who  are  to  dictate  to  everybody,  and  make  every- 
thing square  to  their  mastery.” 

“They’re  a pretty  set,  now,  these  delegates,”  said  Mr. 
Wace,  with  disgust.  “ I once  heard  two  of  ’em  spouting 


THE  RADICAL. 


i«5 

away.  They’re  a sort  of  fellow  I’d  never  employ  in  my 
brewery,  or  anywhere  else.  I’ve  seen  it  again  and  again. 
If  a man  takes  to  tongue-work  it’s  all  over  with  him. 

‘ Everything’s  wrong,’  says  he.  That’s  a big  text.  But  does 
he  want  to  make  everything  right?  Not  he.  He’d  lose  his 
text.  ‘We  want  every  man’s  good,’  say  they.  Why,  they 
never  knew  yet  what  a man’s  good  is.  How  should  they  ? It’s 
working  for  his  victual — not  getting  a slice  of  other  people’s.” 

“Ay,  ay,”  said  young  Joyce,  cordially.  “I  should  just 
have  liked  all  the  delegates  in  the  country  mustered  for  our 
yeomanry  to  go  into — that’s  all.  They’d  see  where  the 
strength  of  Old  England  lay  then.  You  may  tell  what  it  is 
for  a country  to  trust  to  trade  when  it  breeds  such  spindling 
fellows  as  those.” 

“That  isn’t  the  fault  of  trade,  my  good  sir,”  said  Mr. 
Nolan,  who  was  often  a little  pained  by  the  defects  of  pro- 
vincial culture.  “ Trade,  properly  conducted,  is  good  for  a 
man’s  constitution.  I could  have  shown  you,  in  my  time, 
weavers  past  seventy,  with  all  their  faculties  as  sharp  as  a 
pen-knife,  doing  without  spectacles.  It’s  the  new  system  of 
trade  that’s  to  blame  : a country  can’t  have  too  much  trade 
if  it’s  properly  managed.  Plenty  of  sound  Tories  have 
made  their  fortune  by  trade.  You’ve  heard  of  Calibut  & Co. 
— everybody  has  heard  of  Calibut.  Well,  sir,  I knew  old 
Mr.  Calibut  as  well  as  I know  you.  He  was  once  a crony  of 
mine  in  a city  warehouse  ; and  now,  I’ll  answer  for  it,  he  has 
a larger  rent-roll  than  Lord  Wyvern.  Bless  your  soul ! his 
subscriptions  to  charities  would  make  a fine  income  for  a 
nobleman.  And  he’s  as  good  a Tory  as  I am.  And  as  for 
his  town  establishment — why,  how  much  butter  do  you  think 
is  consumed  there  annually?” 

Mr.  Nolan  paused,  and  then  his  face  glowed  with  triumph 
as  he  answered  his  own  question.  “Why,  gentlemen,  not 
less  than  two  thousand  pounds  of  butter  during  the  few 
months  the  family  is  in  town  ! Trade  makes  property,  my 
good  sir,  and  property  is  conservative,  as  they  say  now. 
Calibut’s  son-in-law  is  Lord  Fortinbras.  He  paid  me  a large 
debt  on  his  marriage.  It’s  all  one  web,  sir.  The  prosperity 
of  the  country  is  one  web.” 

“To  be  sure,”  said  Christian,  who,  smoking  his  cigar  with 
his  chair  turned  away  from  the  table,  was  willing  to  make 
himself  agreeable  in  the  conversation.  “We  can’t  do  with- 
out nobility.  Look  at  France.  When  they  got  rid  of  the 
old  nobles  they  were  obliged  to  make  new.” 


1 86 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“True,  very  true,”  said  Mr.  Nolan,  who  thought  Christian 
a little  too  wise  for  his  position,  but  could  not  resist  the  rare 
gift  of  an  instance  in  point.  “ It’s  the  French  Revolution 
that  has  done  us  harm  here.  It  was  the  same  at  the  end  of 
the  last  century,  but  the  war  kept  it  off — Mr.  Pitt  saved  us. 
I knew  Mr.  Pitt.  I had  a particular  interview  with  him  once. 
He  joked  me  about  getting  the  length  of  his  foot.  ‘Mr. 
Nolan,’  said  he,  ‘there  are  those  on  the  other  side  of  the 
water  whose  name  begins  with  N.  who  would  be  glad  to 
know  what  you  know.’  I was  recommended  to  send  an 
account  of  that  to  the  newspapers  after  his  death,  poor  man  ! 
but  I’m  not  fond  of  that  kind  of  show  myself.”  Mr.  Nolan 
swung  his  upper  leg  a little,  and  pinched  his  lip  between  his 
thumb  and  finger,  naturally  pleased  with  his  own  moderation. 

“No,  no — very  right,”  said  Mr.  Wace,  cordially.  “But 
you  never  said  a truer  word  than  that  about  property.  If  a 
man’s  got  a bit  of  property,  a stake  in  the  country,  he’ll  want 
to  keep  things  square.  Where  Jack  isn’t  safe,  Tom’s  in 
danger.  But  that’s  what  makes  it  such  an  uncommonly 
nasty  thing  that  a man  like  Transome  should  take  up  with 
these  Radicals.  It’s  my  belief  he  does  it  only  to  get  into 
Parliament ; he’ll  turn  round  when  he  gets  there.  Come, 
Dibbs,  there’s  something  to  put  you  in  spirits,”  added  Mr. 
Wace,  raising  his  voice  a little  and  looking  at  a guest  lower 
down.  “You’ve  got  to  vote  for  a Radical  with  one  side  of 
your  mouth,  and  make  a Wry  face  with  the  other ; but  he’ll 
turn  round  by-and-by.  As  Parson  Jack  says,  he’s  got  the 
right  sort  of  blood  in  him.” 

“ I don’t  care  two  straws  who  I vote  for,”  said  Dibbs, 
sturdily.  “I’m  not  going  to  make  a wry  face.  It  stands  to 
reason  a man  should  vote  for  his  landlord.  My  farm’s  in 
good  condition,  and  I’ve  got  the  best  pasture  on  the  estate. 
The  rot’s  never  come  nigh  me.  Let  them  grumble  as  are  on 
the  wrong  side  of  the  hedge.” 

“I  wonder  if  Jermyn’ll  bring  him  in,  though,”  said  Mr. 
Sircome,  the  great  miller.  “ He’s  an  uncommon  fellow  for 
carrying  things  through.  I know  he  brought  me  through 
that  suit  about  my  weir  ; it  cost  a pretty  penny,  but  he 
brought  me  through.” 

“ It’s  a bit  of  a pill  for  him,  too,  having  to  turn  Radical,” 
said  Mr.  Wace.  “ They  say  he  counted  on  making  friends 
with  Sir  Maximus,  by  this  young  one  coming  home  and 
joining  with  Mr.  Philip.” 

“ But  I’ll  bet  a penny  he  brings  Transome  in,”  said  Mr. 


THE  RADICAL. 


I87 

Sircome.  “ Folks  say  he  hasn’t  got  many  votes  hereabout;  but 
toward  Duffield,  and  all  there,  where  the  Radicals  are,  every- 
body’s for  him.  Eh, Mr. Christian?  Come— you’re  at  the  foun- 
tain-head— what  do  they  say  about  it  now  at  the  Manor  ?” 
When  general  attention  was  called  to  Christian  young 
Joyce  looked  down  at  his  own  legs  and  touched  the  curves 
of  his  own  hair,  as  if  measuring  his  own  approximation  to 
that  correct  copy  of  a gentleman.  Mr.  Wace  turned  his 
head  to  listen  for  Christian’s  answer  with  that  tolerance  of 
inferiority  which  becomes  men  in  places  of  public  resort. 

“ They  think  it  will  be  a hard  run  between  Transome  and 
Garstin,”  said  Christian.  “ It  depends  on  Transome’s  get- 
ting plumpers.” 

“Well,  I know  I shall  not  split  for  Garstin,”  said  Mr. 
Wace.  “ It’s  nonsense  for  Debarry’s  voters  to  split  for  a 
Whig.  A man’s  either  a Tory  or  not  a Tory.” 

“ It  seems  reasonable  there  should  be  one  of  each  side,” 
said  Mr.  Timothy  Rose.  “ I don’t  like  showing  favor  either 
way.  If  one  side  can’t  lower  the  poor’s  rates  and  take  off 
the  tithe,  let  the  other  try.” 

“ But  there’s  this  in  it,  Wace,”  said  Mr.  Sircome.  “ I’m 
not  altogether  against  the  Whigs.  For  they  don’t  want  to 
go  so  far  as  the  Radicals  do,  and  when  they  find  they’ve 
slipped  a bit  too  far  they’ll  hold  on  all  the  tighter.  And 
the  Whigs  have  got  the  upper  hand  now,  and  it’s  no  use 

fighting  with  the  current.  I run  with  the ” 

Mr.  Sircome  checked  himself,  looked  furtively  at|Christian, 
and,  to  divert  criticisms,  ended  with — “ eh,  Mr.  Nolan?” 

“ There  have  been  eminent  Whigs,  sir.  Mr.  Fox  was  a 
Whig,”  said  Mr.  Nolan.  “ Mr.  Fox  was  a great  orator.  He 
was  very  intimate  with  the  Prince  of  Wales.  I’ve  seen  him, 
and  the  Duke  of  York  too,  go  home  by  daylight  with  their 
hats  crushed.  Mr.  Fox  was  a great  leader  of  Opposition: 
Government  requires  an  Opposition.  The  Whigs  should 
always  be  in  opposition,  and  the  Tories  on  the  ministerial 
side.  That’s  what  the  country  used  to  like.  ‘ The  Whigs 
for  salt  and  mustard,  the  Tories  for  meat,’  Mr.  Gottlib,  the 
banker,  used  to  say  to  me.  Mr.  Gottlib  was  a worthy  man. 
When  therewas  a great  run  on  Mr.  Gottlib's  bank  in  ’j6,  I 
saw  a gentleman  come  in  with  bags  of  gold,  and  say,  4 Tell  Mr. 
Gottlib  there’s  plenty  more  where  that  came  from.’  It 
stopped  the  run,  gentlemen — it  did  indeed.” 

This  anecodote  was  received  with  great  admiration,  but 
Mr.  Sircome  returned  to  the  previous  question. 


i88 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“There  now,  you  see,  Wace — it’s  right  there  should  be 
Whigs  as  well  as  Tories — Pitt  and  Fox — I’ve  always  heard 
them  go  together.” 

“ Well,  I don’t  like  Garstin,”  said  the  brewer.  “ I didn't 
like  his  conduct  about  the  Canal  Company.  Of  the  two,  I 
like  Transome  best.  If  a nag  is  to  throw  me,  I say,  let  him 
have  some  blood.” 

“ As  for  blood,  Wace,”  said  Mr.  Salt,  the  wool-factor,  a 
bilious  man,  who  only  spoke  when  there  was  a good  oppor- 
tunity of  contradicting,  “ ask  my  brother-in-law,  Labron,  a 
little  about  that.  These  Transomes  are  not  the  old  blood/’ 

“ Well,  they’re  the  oldest  that’s  forthcoming,  I suppose,” 
said  Mr.  Wace,  laughing.  “ Unless  you  believe  in  mad  old 
Tommy  Trounsem.  I wonder  where  that  old  poaching 
fellow  is  now.” 

“ I saw  him  half-drunk  the  other  day,”  said  young  Joyce. 
“ He’d  got  a flag-basket  with  handbills  in  it  over  his 
shoulder.” 

“ I thought  the  old  fellow  was  dead,”  said  Mr.  Wace. 
“ Hey  ! why,  Jermyn,”  he  went  on  merrily,  as  he  turned 
round  and  saw  the  attorney  entering;  “ you  Radical  ! how 
dare  you  show  yourself  in  this  Tory  house  ? Come,  this  is 
going  a bit  too  far.  We  don’t,  mind  Old  Harry  managing 
our  law  for  11s — that’s  his  proper  business  from  time  im- 
memorial; but ” 

“ But — a — ” said  Jermyn,  smiling,  always  ready  to  carry 
on  a joke,  to  which  his  slow  manner  gave  the  piquancy  of 
surprise,  “ if  he  meddles  with  politics  he  must  be  a Tory.” 

Jermyn  was  not  afraid  to  show  himself  any^where  in  Treby. 
He  knew  many  people  were  not  exactly  fond  of  him,  but  a 
man  can  do  without  that,  if  he  is  prosperous.  A provincial 
lawyer  in  those  old-fashioned  days  was  as  independent  of  per- 
sonal esteem  as  if  he  had  been  a Lord  Chancellor. 

There  was  a good-humored  laugh  at  this  upper  end  of 
the  room  as  Jermyn  seated  himself  at  about  an  equal  angle 
between  Mr.  Wace  and  Christian. 

“ We  were  talking  about  old  Tommy  Trounsem;  you  re- 
member him?  They  say  he’s  turned  up  again,”  said  Mr.  Wace. 

“Ah?”  said  Jermyn,  indifferently.  “But — a — Wace — 
I’m  very  busy  to-day — but  I wanted  to  see  you  about  that 
bit  of  land  of  yours  kt  the  corner  of  Pod’s  End.  I’ve  had  a 
handsome  offer  for  you — I’m  not  at  liberty  to  say  from  whom 
— but  an  offer  that  ought  to  tempt  you.”  f 

“ It  won’t  tempt  me,”  said  Mr.  Wace,  peremptorily,  “ if 


THE  RADICAL.  189 

I’ve  got  a bit  of  land,  I’ll  keep  it.  It’s  hard  enough  to  get 
hereabouts.” 

“ Then  I’m  to  understand  that  you  refuse  all  negotiation  ?” 
said  Jermyn,  who  had  ordered  a glass  of  sherry,  and  was 
looking  around  slowly  as  he  sipped  it,  till  his  eyes  seemed  to 
rest  for  the  first  time  on  Christian,  though  he  had  seen  him 
at  once  on  entering  the  room. 

“ Unless  one  of  the  confounded  railways  should  come. 
But  then  I’ll  stand  out  and  make  ’em  bleed  for  it.” 

There  was  a murmur  of  approbation  ; the  railways  were 
a public  wrong  much  denunciated  in  Treby. 

“ A — Mr.  Philip  Debarry  at  the  Manor  now?  ” said  Jer- 
myn, suddenly  questioning  Christian,  in  a haughty  tone  of 
superiority  which  he  often  chose*  to  use. 

“ No,”  said  Christian,  “ he  is  expected  to-morrow  morn- 
ing.” 

“ Ah  ! ” Jermyn  paused  a moment  or  two,  and  then 

said,  “ You  are  sufficiently  in  his  confidence,  I think,  to 
carry  a message  to  him  with  a small  document  ? ” 

“ Mr.  Debarry  has  often  trusted  me  so  far,”  said  Chris- 
tian, with  much  coolness  ; “ but  if  the  business  is  yours,  you 
can  probably  find  some  one  you  know  better.” 

There  was  a little  winking  and  grimacing  among  those  of 
the  company  who  heard  this  answer. 

“A — true — a,”  said  Jermyn,  not  showing  any  offence; 
“ if  you  decline.  But  I think,  if  you  will  do  me  the  favor  to 
step  round  to  my  residence  on  your  way  back,  and  learn  the 
business,  you  will  prefer  carrying  it  yourself.  At  my  resi- 
dence, if  you  please — not  my  office.” 

“ Oh,  very  well,”  said  Christian.  “ I shall  be  very  happy.” 
Christian  never  allowed  himself  to  be  treated  as  a servant 
by  anyone  but  his  master,  and  his  master  treated  a servant 
more  deferentially  than  an  equal. 

“ Will  it  be  five  o’clock  ? what  hour  shall  we  say  ? ” said 
Jermyn. 

Christian  looked  at  his  watch  and  said,  “ About  five  I can 
be  there.”  „ 

“ Very  good,”  said  Jermyn,  finishing  his  sherry. 

“ Well — a — Wace — a — so  you  will  hear  nothing  about 
Pod’s  End  ? ” 

“ Not  I.” 

“ A mere  pocket-handkerchief,  not  enough  to  swear  by — 
a — ’’here  Jermyn’s  face  broke  into  a smile — “without  a 
magnifying-glass.” 


190 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ Never  mind.  It’s  mine  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth  and 
up  to  the  sky.  I can  build  the  Tower  of  Babel  on  it  if  I 
like — eh,  Mr.  Nolan  ? ” 

“ A bad  investment,  my  good  sir,’1  said  Mr.  Nolan,  who 
enjoyed  a certain  flavor  of  infidelity  in  this  smart  reply,  and 
laughed  much  at  it  in  his  inward  way. 

“ See  now,  how  blind  you  Tories  are,”  said  Jermyn,  ris- 
ing ; “ if  I had  been  your  lawyer,  I’d  have  had  you  make 
another  forty-shilling  freeholder  with  that  land,  and  all  in 
time  for  this  election.  But — a — the  verbum  sapientibus  comes 
a little  too  late  now.” 

Jermyn  was  moving  away  as  he  finished  speaking,  but  Mr. 
Wace  called  out  after  him,  “ We’re  not  so  badly  off  for  votes 
as  you  are — good  sound  votes,  that’ll  stand  the  Revising 
Barrister.  Debarry  at  the  top  of  the  poll ! ” 

The  lawyer  was  already  out  of  the  doorway. 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

’Tis  grievous  that  with  all  amplification  of  travel  both  by  sea  and  land,  a man  can 
never  separate  himself  from  his  past  history. 

Mr.  Jermyn’s  handsome  house  stood  a little  way  out  of 
the  town,  surrounded  by  garden  and  lawn  and  plantations 
of  hopeful  trees.  As  Christian  approached  it  he  was  in  a 
perfectly  easy  state  of  mind : the  business  he  was  going  on 
was  none  of  his,  otherwise  than  as  he  was  well  satisfied  with 
any  opportunity  of  making  himself  valuable  to  Mr.  Philip 
Debarry.  As  he  looked  at  Jermyn’s  length  of  wall  and  iron 
railing,  he  said  to  himself,  “ These  lawyers  are  the  fellows 
for  getting  on  in  the  world  with  the  least  expense  of  civility. 
With  this  cursed  conjuring  secret  of  theirs  called  Law,  they 
think  everybody  is  frightened  at  them.  My  Lord  Jermyn 
seems  to  have  his  insolence  as  ready  as  his  soft  sawder. 
He’s  as  sleek  as  a rat,  and  has  as  vicious  a tooth.  I know 
the  sort  of  vermin  well  enough.  I’ve  helped  to  fatten  one 
or  two.” 

In  this  mood  of  conscious,  contemptuous  penetration, 
Christian  was  shown  by  the  footman  into  Jermyn’s  private 
room,  where  the  attorney  sat  surrounded  with  massive  oaken 
book-cases,  and  other  furniture  to  correspond,  from  the 
thickest-legged  library-table  to  the  calendar  frame  and  card- 
rack.  It  was  the  sort  of  a room  a man  prepares  for  himself 
when  he  feels  sure  of  a long  and  respectable  future.  He 
was  leaning  back  in  his  leather  chair,  against  the  broad  win- 
dow opening  on  the  lawn,  and  had  just  taken  off  his  specta- 


THE  RADICAL.  I9I 

cles  and  let  the  newspaper  fall  on  his  knees,  in  despair  of 
reading  by  the  fading  light. 

When  the  footman  opened  the  door  and  said,  Mr.  Chris- 
tian,M Jermyn  said,  “ Good  evening,  Mr.  Christian.  Be 
seated,”  pointing  to  a chair  opposite  himself  and  the  win- 
dow. “ Light  the  candles  on  the  shelf,  John,  but  leave  the 
blinds  alone.” 

He  did  not  speak  again  till  the  man  was  gone  out,  but  ap- 
peared to  be  referring  to^  a document  which  lay  on  the 
bureau  before  him.  When  the  door  was  closed  he  drew  him- 
self up  again,  began  to  rub  his  hands,  and  turned  toward  his 
visitor,  who  seemed  perfectly  indifferent  to  the  fact  that  the 
attorney  was  in  shadow,  and  that  the  light  fell  on  himself. 

“ A — your  name — a — is  Henry  Scaddon.” 

There  was  a start  through  Christian’s  frame  which  he  was 
quick  enough,  almost  simultaneously,  to  try  and  disguise  as 
a change  of  position.  He  uncrossed  his  legs  and  unbuttoned 
his  coat.  But  before  he  had  time  to  say  anything,  Jermyn 
went  on  with  slow  emphasis. 

“You  were  born  on  the  sixteenth  of  December,  1782,  at 
Blackheath.  Your  father  was  a cloth-merchant  in  London  : 
he  died  when  you  were  barely  of  age,  leaving  an  extensive 
business  : before  you  were  five-and-twenty  you  had  run 
through  the  greater  part  of  the  property,  and  had  compro- 
mised your  safety  by  an  attempt  to  defraud  your  creditors. 
Subsequently  you  forged  a check  on  your  father’s  elder 
brother,  who  had  intended  to  make  you  his  heir.” 

* Here  Jermyn  paused  a moment  and  referred  to  the  docu- 
ment. Christian  was  silent. 

“ In  1808  you  found  it  expedient  to  leave  this  country  in 
a military  disguise,  and  were  taken  prisoner  by  the  French. 
On  the  occasion  of  an  exchange  of  prisoners  you  had  the 
opportunity  of  returning  to  your  own  country,  and  to  the 
bosom  of  your  own  family.  You  were  generous  enough  to 
sacrifice  that  prospect  in  favor  of  a fellow-prisoner,  of  about 
your  own  age  and  figure,  who  had  more  pressing  reasons 
than  yourself  for  wishing  to  be  on  this  side  of  the  water. 
You  exchanged  dress,  luggage,  and  names  with  him,  and  he 
passed  to  England  instead  of  you  as  Henry  Scaddon.  Almost 
immediately  afterward  you  escaped  from  your  imprisonment, 
after  feigning  an  illness  which  prevented  your  exchange  of 
names  from  being  discovered  ; and  it  was  reported  that  you 
— that  is,  you  under  the  name  of  your  fellow-prisoner — were 
drowned  in  an  open  boat,  trying  to  reach  a Neapolitan  ves- 


192 


FELIX  HOLT, 


sel  bound  for  Malta.  Nevertheless  I have  to  congratulate 
you  on  the  falsehood  of  that  report,  and  on  the  certainty 
that  you  are  now,  after  the  lapse  of  more  than  twenty  years, 
seated  here  in  perfect  safety.” 

Jermyn  paused  so  long  that  he  was  evidently  awaiting  some 
answer.  At  last  Christian  replied  in  a dogged  tone — 

“Well,  sir,  I’ve  heard  much  longer  stories  than  that  told 
quite  as  solemnly,  when  there  was  not  a word  of  truth  in 
them.  Suppose  1 deny  the  very  peg  you  hang  your  state- 
ment on.  Suppose  I say  I am  not  Henry  Scaddon.” 

“ A — in  that  case — a,”  said  Jermyn,  with  wooden  indif- 
ference, “ you  would  lose  the  advantage  which — a — may 
attach  to  your  possession  of  Henry  Scaddon’s  knowledge. 
And  £t  the  same  time,  if  it  were  in  the  least — a — inconvenient 
to  you  that  you  should  be  recognized  as  Henry  Scaddon, 
your  denial  would  not  prevent  me  from  holding  the  knowledge 
and  evidence  which  I possess  on  that  point ; it  would  only 
prevent  us  from  pursuing  the  present  conversation.” 

“ Well,  sir,  suppose  we  admit,  for  the  sake  of  the  convex 
sation,  that  your  account  of  the  matter  is  the  true  one  : what 
advantage  have  you  to  offer  the  man  named  Henry  Scaddon  ? ” 
“ The  advantage — a — is  problematical ; but  it  may  be  con- 
siderable. It  might,  in  fact,  release  you  from  the  necessity 
of  acting  as  courier,  or — a — valet,  or  whatever  other  office 
you  may  occupy  which  prevents  you  from  being  your  own 
master.  On  the  other  hand,  my  acquaintance  with  your  se- 
cret is  not  necessarily  a disadvantage  to  you.  To  put  the 
matter  in  a nutshell,  I am  not  inclined — a — gratuitously — 
to  do  you  any  harm,  and  I may  be  able  to  do  you  a consid- 
erable service.” 

“ Which  you  want  me  to  earn  somehow  ? ” said  Christian. 
“ You  offer  me  a turn  in  a lottery  ? ” 

“ Precisely.  The  matter  in  question  is  of  no  earthly 
interest  to  you,  except — a — as  it  may  yield  you  a prize.  We 
lawyers  have  to  do  with  complicated  questions,  and — a — 
legal  subtleties,  which  are  never — a — fully  known  even  to 
the  parties  immediately  interested,  still  less  to  the  witnesses. 
Shall  we  agree,  then,  that  you  continue  to  retain  two-thirds 
of  the  name  which  you  gained  by  exchange,  and  that  you 
oblige  me  by  answering  certain  questions  as  to  the  experience 
of  Henry  Scaddon  ? ” 

“Very  good.  Go  on.” 

“ What  articles  of  property  once  belonging  to  your  fellow- 
prisoner,  Maurice  Christian  Bycliff e,  do  you  still  retain  ? ” 


THE  RADICAL. 


*93 


“ This  ring,”  said  Christian,  twirling  round  the  fine  seal- 
ring on  his  finger,  “ his  watch,  and  the  little  matters  that 
hung  with  it,  and  a case  of  papers.  I got  rid  of  a gold 
snuff-box  once  when  I was  hard  up.  The  clothes  are  all 
gone,  of  course.  We  exchanged  everything  ; it  was  all 
done  in  a hurry.  Bycliffe  thought  we  should  meet  again  in 
England  before  long,  and  he  was  mad  to  get  there.  But 
that  was  impossible — I mean  that  we  should  meet  soon 
after.  I don’t  know  what’s  be#come  of  him,  else  I would  give 
him  up  his  papers  and  the  watch,  and  so  on — though,  you 
know,  it  was  I who  did  him  the  service,  and  he  felt  that.” 

“ You  were  at  Vesoul  together  before  being  moved  to 
Verdun  ? ” 

“ Yes.  ” 

“ What  else  do  you  know  about  Bycliffe  ? ” 

“ Oh,  nothing  very  particular,”  said  Christian  pausing, 
and  rapping  his  boot  with  his  cane.  “ He’d  been  in  the 
Hanoverian  army — a high-spirited  fellow,  took  nothing 
easily  ; not  over-strong  in  health.  He  made  a fool  of  him- 
self with  marrying  at  Vesoul  ; and  there  was  the  devil  to 
pay  with  the  girl’s  relations  ; and  then,  when  the  prisoners 
were  ordered  off,  they  ,had  to  part.  Whether  they  ever  got 
together  again  I don’t  know.” 

“ Was  the  marriage  all  right  then  ? ” 

“ Oh,  all  on  the  square— civil  marriage,  church- — every- 
thing. Bycliffe  was  a fool — a good-natured,  proud,  head- 
strong fellow.” 

“ How  long  did  the  marriage  take  place  before  you  left 
Vesoul?” 

“ About  three  months.  I was  witness  to  the  marriage.” 

“ And  you  know  no  more  about  the  wife  ? ” 

“ Not  afterward.  I knew  her  very  well  before — pretty 
Annette — Annette  Learu  was  her  name.  She  was  of  a 
good  family,  and  they  had  made  up  a fine  match  for  her. 
But  she  was  one  of  your  meek  little  diablesses,  who  have  a 
will  of  their  own  once  in  their  lives — the  will  to  choose 
their  own  master.” 

“ Bycliffe  was  not  open  to  you  about  his  other  affairs  ? ” 

“ Oh,  no — a fellow  you  wouldn’t  dare  to  ask  a question 
of.  Pepple  told  him  everything,  but  he  told  nothing  in 
return.  If  Madame  Annette  ever  found  him  again,  she 
found  her  lord  and  master  with  a vengeance  ; but  she  was 
a regular  lapdog.  However,  her  family  shut  her  up — made 
a prisoner  of  her — to  prevent  her  running  away.” 


i94 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ Ah — good.  Much  of  what  you  have  been  so  obliging 
as  to  say  is  irrelevant  to  any  possible  purpose  of  mine,  which, 
in  fact,  has  only  to  do  with  a mouldy  law-case  that  might 
be  aired  some  day.  You  will  doubtless,  on  your  own 
account,  maintain  perfect  silence  on  what  has  passed 
between  us,  and  with  that  condition  duly  preserved — a — it 
is  possible  that — a — the  lottery  you  have  put  into — as  you 
observe — may  turn  up  a prize.” 

“ This,  then,  is  all  the  business  you  have  with  me  ? ” said 
Christian,  rising. 

“All.  You  will,  of  course,  preserve  carefully  all  the 
papers  and  other  articles  which  have  so  many — a — recol- 
lections— a — attached  to  them  ? ” 

“Oh,  yes.  If  there’s  any  chance  of  Bycliffe  turning  up 
again,  I shall  be  sorry  to  have  parted  with  the]  snuff-box  ; 
but  I was  hard-up  at  Naples.  In  fact,  as  you  see,  I was 
obliged  at  last  to  turn  courier.” 

“ An  exceedingly  agreeable  life  for  a man  of  some — a — 
accomplishments  and — a — no  income,”  said  Jermyn,  rising, 
and  reaching  a candle,  which  he  placed  against  his  desk. 

Christian  knew  this  was  a sign  that  he  was  expected  to 
go,  but  he  lingered  standing,  with  one  hand  on  the  back  of 
his  chair.  At  last,  he  said  rather  sulkily — 

“ I think  you’re  too  clever,  Mr.  Jermyn,  not  to  perceive 
that  I’m  not  a man  to  be  made  a fool  of.” 

“ Well — a — it  may  perhaps  be  a still  better  guarantee 
for  you/’  said  Jermyn,  smiling,  “that  I see  no  use  in 
attempting  that — a — metamorphosis/’ 

“ The  old  gentleman,  who  ought  never  to  have  felt  him- 
self injured,  is  dead  now,  and  I’m  not  afraid  of  creditors 
after  more  than  twenty  years.” 

“ Certainly  not  ; — a — there  may  indeed  be  claims  which 
can’t  assert  themselves — a — legally,  which  yet  are  molesting 
to  a man  of  some  reputation.  But  you  may  perhaps  be 
happily  free  from  such  fears.” 

Jermyn  drew  round  his  chair  toward  the  bureau,  and 
Christian,  too  acute  to  persevere  uselessly,  said,  “ Good-day,” 
and  left  the  room. 

After  leaning  back  in  his  chair  to  reflect  a few  minutes, 
Jermyn  wrote  the  following  letter  : — 

Dear  Johnson, — I learn  from  your  letter,  received  this  morning,  that 
you  intend  returning  to  town  on  Saturday. 

While  you  are  there,  be  so  good  as  to  see  Me.dwin,  who  used  to  be 
withBatt  & Cowley,  and  ascertain  from  hi  m indirectly,  and  in  the  course 


THE  RADICAL. 


T95 

of  conversation  on  other  topics,  whether  in  that  old  business  in  1810-11, 
Scaddon  alias  Bycliffe,  or  Bycliffe  alias  Scaddon,  before  his  imprison- 
ment, gave  Batt  & Cowley  any  reason  to  believe  that  he  was  married  and 
expected  to  have  a child.  The  question,  as  you  know,  is  of  no  practical 
importance  ; but  I wish  to  draw  up  an  abstract  of  the  Bycliffe  case,  and 
the  exact  position  in  which  it  stood  before  the  suit  was  closed  by  the 
death  of  the  plaintiff,  in  order  that,  if  Mr.  Harold  Transome  desires  it, 
he  may  see  how  the  failure  of  the  last  claim  has  secured  the  Durfey- 
Transome  title,  and  whether  there  is  a hair’s  breadth  of  chance  that 
another  claim  should  be  set  up. 

Of  course  there  is  not  a shadow  of  such  a chance.  For  even  if  Batt  & 
Cowley  were  to  suppose  that  they  had  alighted  on  a surviving  representa- 
tive of  the  Bycliffes,  it  would  not  enter  their  heads  to  set  up  a new  claim, 
since  they  brought  evidence  that  the  last  life  which  suspended  the 
Bycliffe  remainder  was  extinct  before  the  case  was  closed,  a good  twenty 
years  ago. 

Still  I want  to  show  the  present  heir  of  the  Durfey-Transomes  the 
exact  condition  of  the  family  title  to  the  estates.  So  get  me  an  answer 
from  Medwin  on  the  above  mentioned  point. 

I shall  meet  you  at  Duffield  next  week.  We  must  get  Transome 
returned.  Never  mind  his  having  been  a little  rough  the  other  day,  but 
go  on  doing  what  you  know  is  necessary  for  his  interest.  His  interest  is 
mine,  which  I need  not  say  is  John  Johnson’s. 

Yours  faithfully,  Matthew  Jermyn. 

When  the  attorney  had  sealed  this  letter  and  leaned  back 
in  his  chair  again,  he  was  inwardly  saying — 

“ Now,  Mr.  Harold,  I shall  shut  up  this  affair  in  a private 
drawer  till  you  choose  to  take  any  extreme  measures  which 
will  force  me  to  bring  it  out.  I have  the  matter  entirely  in 
my  own  power.  No  one  but  old  Lyon  knows  about  the 
girl’s  birth.  No  one  but  Scaddon  can  clench  the  evidence 
about  Bycliffe,  and  I’ve  got  Scaddon  under  my  thumb.  No 
soul  except  myself  and  Johnson,  who  is  a limb  of  myself, 
knows  that  there  is  one  half-dead  life  which  may  presently 
leave  the  girl  a new  claim  to  the  Bycliffe  heirship.  I shall 
learn  through  Methurst  whether  Batt  & Cowley  knew,  through 
Bycliffe,  of  this  woman  having  come  to  England.  I shall 
hold  all  the  threads  between  my  thumb  and  finger.  I can 
use  the  evidence  or  I can  nullify  it. 

“ And  so,  if  Mr.  Harold  pushes  me  to  extremity,  and  threat- 
ens me  with  chancery  and  ruin,  I have  an  opposing  threat, 
which  will  either  save  me  or  turn  into  a punishment  for  him.” 

He  rose,  put  out  his  candles,  and  stood  with  his  back  to 
the  fire,  looking  out  on  the  dim  lawn,  with  its  black  twilight 
fringe  of  shrubs,  still  meditating.  Quick  thought  was  gleam- 
ing over  five-and-thirty  years  filled  with  devices  more  or  less 
clever,  more  or  less  desirable  to  be  avowed.  Those  which 
might  be  avowed  with  impunity  were  not  always  to  be  distin- 


FELIX  HOLT 


I96 

guished  as  innocent  by  comparison  with  those  which  it  was 
advisable  to  conceal.  In  a profession  where  much  that  is  nox- 
ious may  be  done  without  disgrace,  is  a conscience  likely  to 
be  without  balm  when  circumstances  have  urged  a man  to 
overstep  the  line  where  his  good  technical  information  makes 
him  aware  that  (with  discovery)  disgrace  is  likely  to  begin  ? 

With  regard  to  the  Transome  affairs,  the  family  had  been 
in  pressing  need  of  money,  and  it  had  lain  with  him  to  get 
it  for  them  : was  it  to  be  expected  that  he  would  not  con- 
sider his  own  advantage  where  he  had  rendered  services 
such  as  are  never  fully  paid  ? If  it  came  to  a question  of 
right  and  wrong  instead  of  law,  the  least  justifiable  things  he 
had  ever  done  had  been  done  on  behalf  of  the  Transomes.  It 
had  been  a deucedly  unpleasant  thing  for  him  to  get  Bycliffe 
arrested  and  thrown  into  prison  as  Henry  Scaddon — perhaps 
hastening  the  man’s  death  in  that  way.  But  if  it  had  not 
been  done  by  dint  of  his  (Jermyn’s)  exertions  and  tact,  he 
would  like  to  know  where  the  Durfey-Transomes  might  have 
been  by  this  time.  As  for  right  or  wrong,  if  the  truth  were 
known,  the  very  possession  of  the  estate  by  the  Durfey-Tran- 
somes was  owing  to  law-tricks  that  took  place  nearly  a cen- 
tury ago,  when  the  original  old  Durfey  got  his  base  fee. 

But  inward  argument  of  this  sort  now,  as  always,  was 
merged  in  anger,  in  exasperation,  that  Harold,  precisely 
Harold  Transome,  should  have  turned  out  to  be  the  probable 
instrument  of  a visitation  which  would  be  bad  luck,  not 
justice  ; for  is  there  any  justice  where  ninety-nine  out  of 
every  hundred  escape  ? He  felt  himself  beginning  to  hate 
Harold  as  he  had  never 

Just  then  Jermyn’s  third  daughter,  a tall  slim  girl, 
wrapped  in  a white  woollen  shawl,  which  she  had  hung  over 
her  blanket-wise,  skipped  across  the  lawn  toward  the  green- 
house to  get  a flower.  Jermyn  was  startled,  and  did  not 
identify  the  figure,  or  rather  he  identified  it  falsely  with  an- 
other tall  white-wrapped  figure  which  had  sometimes  set  his 
heart  beating  quickly  more  than  thirty  years  before.  For  a 
moment  he  was  fully  back  in  those  distant  years  when  he 
and  another  bright-eyed  person  had  seen  no  reason  why  they 
should  not  indulge  their  passion  and  their  vanity,  and  deter- 
mine for  themselves  how  their  lives  should  be  made  delightful 
in  spite  of  unalterable  external  conditions.  The  reasons  had 
been  unfolding  themselves  gradually  ever  since  through  all 
the  years  which  had  converted  the  handsome,  soft-eyed,  slim 
young  Jermyn  (with  a touch  of  sentiment)  into  a portly  law- 


THE  RADICAL. 


T97 


yer  of  sixty,  for  whom  life  had  resolved  itself  into  the  means 
of  keeping  up  his  head  among  his  professional  brethren  and 
maintaining  an  establishment — into  a gray-haired  husband 
and  father,  whose  third  affectionate  and  expensive  daughter 
now  rapped  at  the  window  and  called  to  him,  “ Papa,  papa, 
get  ready  for  dinner  ; don’t  you  remember  that  the  Lukyns 
are  coming  ? ” 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

Her  gentle  looks  shot  arrows,  piercing  him 

As  gods  are  pierced,  with  poison  of  sweet  pity. 

The  evening  of  the  market-day  had  passed,  and  Felix  had 
not  looked  in  at  Malthouse  Yard  to  talk  over  the  public 
events  with  Mr.  Lyon.  When  Esther  was  dressing  the  next 
morning,  she  had  reached  a point  of  irritated  anxiety  to  see 
Felix,  at  which  she  found  herself  devising  little  schemes  for 
attaining  that  end  in  some  way  that  would  be  so  elaborate 
as  to  seem  perfectly  natural.  Her  watch  had  a long-stand- 
ing ailment  of  losing  ; possibly  it  wanted  cleaning  ; Felix 
would  tell  her  if  it  merely  wanted  regulating,  whereas  Mr. 
Prowd  might  detain  it  unnecessarily,  and  cause  her  useless 
inconvenience.  Or  could  she  not  get  a valuable  hint  from 
Mrs.  Holt  about  the  home-made  bread,  which  was  some- 
thing as  “ sad  ” as  Lyddy  herself  ? Or,  if  she  came  home 
that  way  at  twelve  o’clock,  Felix  might  be  going  out,  she 
might  meet  him,  and  not  be  obliged  to  call.  Or — but  it 

would  be  very  much  beneath  her  to  take  any  steps  of  this 
sort.  Her  watch  had  been  losing  for  the  last  two  months — 
why  should  it  not  go  on  losing  a little  longer  ? She  could 
think  of  no  devices  that  were  not  so  transparent  as  to  be  un- 
dignified. All  the  more  undignified  because  Felix  chose  to 
live  in  a way  that  would  prevent  any  one  from  classing  him 
according  to  his  education  and  mental  refinement — “ which 
certainly  are  very  high,”  said  Esther,  inwardly,  coloring,  as 
if  in  answer  to  some  contrary  allegation,  “ else  I should  not 
think  his  opinion  of  any  consequence.”  But  she  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  she  could  not  possibly  call  at  Mrs.  Holt’s. 

It  followed  that,  up  to  a few  minutes  past  twelve,  when  she 
reached  the  turning  toward  Mrs.  Holt’s,  she  believed  that 
she  should  go  home  the  other  way  ; but  at  the  last  moment 
there  is  always  a reason  not  existing  before — namely,  the  im- 
possibility of  further  vacillation:  Esther  turned  the  corner 

without  any  visible  pause,  and  in  another  minute  was  knock- 
ing at  Mrs.  Holt’s  door,  not  without  an  inward  flutter,  which 
she  was  bent  on  disguising. 


FELIX  HOLT, 


I 98 

“ It’s  never  you,  Miss  Lyon  ! who’d  have  thought  of  see- 
ing you  at  this  time  ? Is  the  minister  ill  ? I thought  he 
looked  creechy.  If  you  want  help,  I’ll  put  my  bonnet  on.” 

“ Don’t  keep  Miss  Lyon  at  the  door,  mother  ; ask  her  to 
come  in,”  said  the  ringing  voice  of  Felix,  surmounting  various 
small  shufflings  and  babbling  voices  within. 

“It’s  my  wish  for  her  to  come  in,  I’m  sure,”  said  Mrs. 
Holt,  making  way  ; “ but  what  is  there  for  her  to  come  in 
to  ? a 'floor  worse  than  any  public.  But  step  in,  pray,  if 
you’re  so  inclined.  When  I’ve  been  forced  to  take  my  bit 
of  carpet  up,  and  have  benches,  I don’t  see  why  I need 
mind  nothing  no  more.” 

“ I only  came  to  ask  Mr.  Holt  if  he  would  look  at  my 
watch  for  me,”  said  Esther,  entering,  and  blushing  a gen- 
eral rose-color. 

“ He’ll  do  that  fast  enough,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  with  em- 
phasis ; “ that’s  one  of  the  things  he  will  do.” 

“ Excuse  my  rising,  Miss  Lyon,”  said  Felix  ; “ I’m  bind- 
ing up  Job’s  finger.” 

Job  was  a small  fellow  about  five,  with  a germinal  nose, 
large  round  blue  eyes,  and  red  hair  that  curled  close  to  his 
head  like  the  wool  on  the  back  of  an  infantine  lamb.  He 
nad  evidently  been  crying,  and  the  corners  of  his  mouth 
were  still  dolorous.  Felix  held  him  on  his  knee  as  he  bound 
and  tied  up  very  cleverly  a tiny  forefinger.  There  was  a table 
in  front  of  Felix  and  against  the  window,  covered  with  his 
watch-making  implements  and  some  open  books.  Two  benches 
stood  at  right  angles  on  the  sanded  floor,  and  six  or  seven 
boys  of  various  ages  up  to  twelve  were  getting  their  caps  and 
preparing  to  go  home.  They  huddled  themselves  together 
and"  stood  still  when  Esther  entered.  Felix  could  not  look 
up  till  he  had  finished  his  surgery,  but  he  went  on  speaking. 

“ This  is  a hero,  Miss  Lyon.  This  is  Job  Tudge,abold  Briton 
whose  finger  hurts  him,  but  who  doesn’t  mean  to  cry.  Good- 
morning, boys.  Don’t  lose  your  time.  Get  out  into  the  air.” 

Esther  seated  herself  on  the  end  of  the  bench  near  Felix, 
much  relieved  that  Job  was  the  immediate  object  of  atten- 
tion ; and  the  other  boys  rushed  out  behind  her  with  a brief 
chant  of  “ Good-morning  ! ” 

“ Did  you  ever  see,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  standing  to  look  on, 
“ how  wonderful  Felix  is  at  that  small  work  with  his  large 
fingers  ? And  that’s  because  he  learned  doctoring.  It  isn’t 
for  want  of  cleverness  he  looks  like  a poor  man,  Miss  Lyon. 
I’ve  left  off  speaking,  else  I should  say  it’s  a sin  and  a shame,’' 


THE  RADICAL. 


I99 


“ Mother,”  said  Felix,  who  often  amused  himself  and  kept 
good-humored  by  giving  his  mother  answers  that  were  unin- 
telligible to  her,  “you  have  an  astonishing  readiness  in  the 
Ciceronian  antiphrasis,  considering  you  have  never  studied 
oratory.  There,  Job — thou  patient  man — sit  still  if  thou 
wilt ; and  now  we  can  look  at  Miss  Lyon.” 

Esther  had  taken  off  her  watch  and  was  holding  it  in  her 
hand.  But  he  looked  at  her  face,  or  rather  at  her  eyes,  as 
he  said,  “ You  want  me  to  doctor  your  watch  ? ” 

Esther’s  expression  was  appealing  and  timid,  as  it  had 
never  been  before  in  Felix’s  presence  ; but  when  she  saw 
the  perfect  calmness,  which  to  her  seemed  coldness,  of  his 
clear  gray  eyes,  as  if  he  saw  no  reason  for  attaching  any  em- 
phasis to  this  first  meeting,  a pang  swift  as  an  electric  shock 
darted  through  her.  She  had  been  very  foolish  to  think  so 
much  of  it.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  her  inferiority  to  Felix 
made  a gulf  between  them.  She  could  not  at  once  rally  her 
pride  and  self-command,  but  let  her  glance  fall  on  her  watch, 
and  said,  rather  tremulously,  “ It  loses.  It  is  very  trouble- 
some. It  has  been  losing  a long  while.” 

Felix  took  the  watch  from  her  hand  ; then,  looking  round 
and  seeing  that  his  mother  was  gone  out  of  the  room,  he 
said,  very  gently — 

“You  look  distressed,  Miss  Lyon.  I hope  there  is  no 
trouble  at  home”  (Felix  was  thinking  of  the  minister’s  agi- 
tation on  the  previous  Sunday).  “ But  I ought  perhaps  to 
beg  your  pardon  for  saying  so  much.” 

Poor  Esther  was  quite  helpless.  The  mortification  which 
had  come  like  a bruise  to  all  the  sensibilities  that  had  been 
in  keen  activity,  insisted  on  some  relief.  Her  eyes  filled  in- 
stantly, and  a great  tear  rolled  down  while  she  said  in  aloud 
sort  of  whisper,  as  involuntary  as  her  tears — 

“ I wanted  to  tell  you  that  I was  not  offended — that  I 
am  not  ungenerous — I thought  you  might  think — but  you 
have  not  thought  of  it.” 

Was  there  ever  more  awkward  speaking  ? — or  any  beha- 
vior less  like  that  of  the  graceful,  self-possessed  Miss  Lyon, 
whose  phrases  were  usually  so  well  turned,  and  whose  repar- 
tees were  so  ready  ? 

For  a moment  there  was  silence.  Esther  had  her  two 
little  delicately-gloved  hands  clasped  on  the  table.  The 
next  moment  she  felt  one  hand  of  Felix  covering  them  both 
and  pressing  them  firmly  ; but  he  did  not  speak.  The  tears 
were  both  on  her  cheeks  now.  and  she  could  lookup  at  him. 


200 


FELIX  HOLT, 


His  eyes  had  an  expression  of  sadness  in  them,  quite  new  to 
her.  Suddenly  little  Job,  who  had  his  mental  exercises  on 
the  occasion,  called  out,  impatiently — 

“ She’s  tut  her  finger  ! ” 

Felix  and  Esther  laughed,  and  drew  their  hands  away  ; 
and  as  Esther  took  her  handkerchief  to  wipe  the  tears  from 
her  cheeks  she  said — 

“ You  see,  Job,  I am  a naughty  coward.  I can’t  help 
crying  when  I’ve  hurt  myself.” 

“ Zoo  soodn’t  kuy,”  said  Job  energetically,  being  much 
impressed  with  a moral  doctrine  which  had  come  to  him 
after  a sufficient  transgression  of  it. 

“ Job  is  like  me,”  said  Felix,  “ fonder  of  preaching  than 
of  practice.  But  let  us  look  at  this  same  watch,”  he  went 
on,  opening  and  examining  it.  “ These  little  Geneva  toys  are 
cleverly  constructed  to  go  always  a little  wrong.  But  if  you 
wind  them  up  and  set  them  regularly  every  night,  you  may 
know  at  least  that  it’s  not  noon  when  the  hand  points  there.” 
Felix  chatted,  that  Esther  might  recover  herself  ; but 
now  Mrs.  Holt  came  back  and  apologized. 

“You’ll  excuse  my  going  away,  I know,  Miss  Lyon.  But 
there  were  the  dumplings  to  see  to,  and  what  little  I’ve  got 
left  on  my  hands  now  I like  to  do  well.  Not  but  what  I’ve 
more  cleaning  to  do  than  ever  I had  in  my  life  before,  as 
you  may  tell  soon  enough  if  you  look  at  this  floor.  But 
when  you’ve  been  used  to  doing  things,  and  they’ve  been 
taken  away  from  you,  it’s  as  if  your  hands  had  been  cut  off, 
and  you  felt  the  fingers  as  are  of  no  use  to  you.” 

“That’s  a great  image,  mother,”  said  Felix,  as  he  snapped 
the  watch  together  and  handed  it  to  Esther  : “ I never 
heard  you  use  such  an  image  before.” 

“ Yes,  I know  you’ve  always  some  fault  to  find  with  what 
your  mother  says.  But  if  ever  there  was  a woman  could 
talk  with  the  open  Bible  before  her,  and  not  be  afraid,  it’s 
me.  I never  did  tell  stories,  and  I never  will — though  I 
know  it’s  done,  Miss  Lyon,  and  by  church  members  too, 
when  they  have  candles  to  sell,  as  I could  bring  you  to  the 
proof.  But  I never  was  one  of  ’em,  let  Felix  say  what  he 
will  about  the  printing  on  the  tickets.  His  father  believed 
it  was  gospel  truth,  and  it’s  presumptuous  to  say  it  wasn’t. 
For  as  for  curing,  how  can  anybody  know  ? There’s  no 
physic’ll  cure  without  a blessing,  and  with  a blessing  I know 
I’ve  seen  a mustard  plaister  work  when  there  was  no  more 
smell  nor  strength  in  the  mustard  than  so  much  flcur.  And 


THE  RADICAL. 


201 


reason  good — for  the  mustard  had  Jain  in  paper  nobody 
knows  how  long — so  I’ll  leave  you  to  guess.” 

Mrs.  Holt  looked  hard  out  of  the  window  and  gave  a slight, 
inarticulate  sound  of  scorn. 

Felix  had  leaned  back  in  his  chair  with  a resigned  smile, 
and  was  pinching  Job’s  ears. 

Esther  said,  “ I think  I had  better  go  now,”  not  knowing 
what  else  to  say,  yet  not  wishing  to  go  immediately,  lest  she 
should  seem  to  be  running  away  from  Mrs.  Holt.  She  felt 
keenly  how  much  endurance  there  must  be  for  Felix.  And 
she  had  often  been  discontented  with  her  father,  and  called 
him  tiresome  ! 

“ Where  does  Job  Tudge  live  ? ” she  said,  still  sitting  and 
looking  at  the  droll  little  figure,  set  off  by  a ragged  jacket 
with  a tail  about  two  inches  deep  sticking  out  above  the 
funniest  of  corduroys. 

“ Job  has  two  mansions,”  said  Felix.  “ He  lives  here 
chiefly  ; but  he  has  another  home,  where  his  grandfather, 
Mr.  Tudge,  the  stone-breaker,  lives.  My  mother  is  very 
good  to  Job,  Miss  Lyon.  She  has  made  him  a little  bed  in 
a cupboard,  and  she  gives  him  sweetened  porridge.” 

The  exquisite  goodness  implied  in  these  words  of  Felix 
impressed  Esther  the  more,  because  in  her  hearing  his  talk 
had  usually  been  pungent  and  denunciatory.  Looking  at 
Mrs.  Holt,  she  saw  that  her  eyes  had  lost  their  bleak  north- 
easterly expression,  and  were  shining  with  some  mildness  on 
little  Job,  who  had  turned  round,  toward  her,  propping  his 
head  against  Felix. 

“ Well,  why  shouldn’t  I be  motherly  to  the  child,  Miss 
Lyon?”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  whose  strong  powers  of  argument 
required  the  file  of  an  imagined  contradiction,  if  there  were 
no  real  one  at  hand.  “ I never  was  hard-hearted,  and  I 
never  will  be.  It  was  Felix  picked  the  child  up  and  took  to 
him,  you  may  be  sure,  for  there’s  nobody  else  master  where 
he  is  ; but  I wasn’t  going  to  beat  the  orphan  child  and  abuse 
him  because  of  that,  and  him  as  straight  as  an  arrow  when 
he’s  stripped,  and  me  so  fond  of  children,  and  only  had  one 
of  my  own  to  live.  I’d  three  babies,  Miss  Lyon,  but  the 
blessed  Lord  only  spared  Felix,  and  him  the  masterfulest 
and  brownest  of  ’em  all.  But  I did  my  duty  by  him,  and  I 
said,  he’ll  have  more  schooling  than  his  father,  and  he’ll 
grow  up  a doctor,  and  marry  a woman  with  money  to  fur- 
nish— as  I was  myself,  spoons  and  everything — and  I shall 
have  the  grandchildren  to  look  up  to  me,  and  be  drove  out 


202 


FELIX  HOLT, 


in  the  gig  sometimes,  like  old  Mrs.  Lukyn.  And  you  see 
what  it’s  all  come  to,  Miss  Lyon  : here's  Felix  made  a com- 
mon man  of  himself,  and  says  he’ll  never  be  married — which 
is  the  most  unreasonable  thing,  and  him  never  easy  but  when 
he’s  got  the  child  on  his  lap,  or  when- ” 

“ Stop,  stop,  mother,”  Felix  burst  in  ; “ pray  don’t  use  that 
limping  argument  again — that  a man  should  marry  because 
he’s  fond  of  children.  That’s  a reason  for  not  marrying.  A 
bachelor’s  children  are  always  young  : they’re  immortal 
children — always  lisping,  waddling,  helpless,  and  with  a 
chance  of  turning  out  good.” 

“ The  Lord  above  may  know  what  you  mean  ! And 
haven’t  other  folks’s  children  a chance  of  turning  out  good?” 

“ Oh,  they  grow  out  of  it  very  fast.  Here’s  Job  Tudge 
now,”  said  Felix,  turning  the  little  one  round  on  his  knee, 
and  holding  his  head  by  the  back — “ Job’s  limbs  will  get 
lanky  ; this  little  fist  that  looks  like  a puff-ball  and  can  hide 
nothing  bigger  than  a gooseberry,  will  get  large  and  bony, 
and  perhaps  want  to  clutch  more  than  its  share  ; these  wide 
blue  eyes  that  tell  me  more  truth  than  Job  knows,  will  nar- 
row and  narrow  and  try  to  hide  truth  that  Job  would  be 
better  without  knowing  ; this  little  negative  nose  will  become 
long  and  self-asserting  ; and  this  little  tongue — put  out  thy 
tongue,  Job  ” — Job,  awe-struck  under  this  ceremony,  put 
out  a little  red  tongue  very  timidly — “this  tongue,  hardly 
bigger  than  a rose-leaf,  will  get  large  and  thick,  wag  out  of 
season,  do  mischief,  brag  and  cant  for  gain  or  vanity,  and  cut 
as  cruelly,  for  all  its  clumsiness,  as  if  it  were  a sharp-edged 
blade.  Big  Job  will  perhaps  be  naughty — ” As  Felix, 
speaking  with  the  loud  emphatic  distinctness  habitual  to  him, 
brought  out  this  terribly  familiar  yvord,  Job’s  sense  of  mystifi- 
cation became  too  painful : he  hung  his  lip  and  began  to  cry. 

“ See  here,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  “ you’re  frightening  the  inno- 
cent child  with  such  talk — and  it’s  enough  to  frighten  them 
that  think  themselves  the  safest.” 

“ Look  here,  Job,  my  man,”  said  Felix,  setting  the  boy 
down  and  turning  him  toward  Esther  ; “ goto  Miss  Lyon,  ask 
her  to  smile  at  you,  and  that  will  dry  up  your  tears  like  the 
sunshine.” 

Job  put  his  two  brown  fists  on  Esther’s  lap,  and  she 
stooped  to  kiss  him.  Then  holding  his  face  between  her 
hands  she  said,  “ Tell  Mr.  Holt  we  don’t  mean  to  be  naughty, 
Job.  He  should  believe  in  us  more.  But  now  I must  really 
go  home,” 


THE  RADICAL.  203 

Esther  rose  and  held  out  her  hand  to  Mrs.  Holt,  who  kept 
it  while  she  said,  a little  to  Esther’s  confusion — 

“ I’m  very  glad  it’s  took  your  fancy  to  come  here  some- 
times, Miss  Lyon.  I know  you’re  thought  to  hold  your  head 
high,  but  I speak  of  people  as  I find  ’em.  And  I’m  sure 
anybody  had  need  be  humble  that  comes  where  there’s  a floor 
like  this — for  I’ve  put  by  my  best  tea-trays,  they’re  so  out  of 
all  character — I must  look  Above  for  comfort  now  ; but  I 
don’t  say  I’m  not  worthy  to  be  called  on  for  all  that.” 

Felix  had  risen  and  moved  toward  the  door  that  he  might 
open  it  and  shield  Esther  from  more  last  words  on  his 
mother’s  part. 

“ Good-bye,  Mr.  Holt.” 

“ Will  Mr.  Lyon  like  for  me  to  sit  with  him  an  hour  this 
evening,  do  you  think?” 

“ Why  not  ? He  always  likes  to  see  you.” 

“ Then  I will  come.  Good-bye.” 

“ She’s  a very  straight  figure,”  said  Mrs.  Holt.  “ How  she 
carries  herself  ! But  I doubt  there’s  some  truth  in  what  our 
people  say.  If  she  won’t  look  at  young  Muscat,  it’s  the  better 
for  him.  He’d  need  have  a big  fortune  that  marries  her.” 
“ That’s  true,  mother,”  said  Felix,  sitting  down,  snatching 
up  little  Job,  and  finding  a vent  for  some  unspeakable  feel- 
ing in  the  pretence  of  worrying  him. 

Esther  was  rather  melancholy  &s  she  went  home,  yet 
happier  withal  than  she  had  been  for  many  days  before.  She 
thought,  “ I need  not  mind  having  shown  so  much  anxiety 
about  his  opinion.  He  is  too  clear-sighted  to  mistake  our 
mutual  position  ; he  is  quite  above  putting  a false  interpre- 
tation on  what  I have  done.  Besides,  he  had  not  thought  of 
me  at  all — I saw  that  plainly  enough.  Yet  he  was  very  kind. 
There  is  something  greater  and  better  in  him  than  I had 
imagined.  His  behavior  to-day — to  his  mother  and  me  too — 
I should  call  it  the  highest  gentlemanliness,  only  it  seems  in 
him  to  be  something  deeper.  But  he  has  chosen  an  intoler- 
able life  ; though  I suppose,  if  I had  a mind  equal  to  his,  and 
if  he  loved  me  very  dearly,  I should  choose  the  same  life.” 
Esther  felt  that  she  had  prefixed  an  impossible  “ if  ” to 
that  result.  But  now  she  had  known  Felix  her  conception 
of  what  a happy  love  must  be  had  become  like  a dissolving 
view,  in  which  the  once-dear  images  were  gradually  melting 
into  new  forms  and  new  colors.  The  favorite  Byronic  heroes 
were  beginning  to  look  like  last  night’s  decorations  seen  in 
the  sober  dawn,  So  fast  does  a little  leaven  spread  within 


204  FELIX  HOLT, 

us — so  incalculable  is  one  personality  on  another.  Behind 
all  Esther’s  thoughts,  like  an  unacknowledged  yet  constrain- 
ing presence,  there  was  the  sense,  that  if  Felix  Holt  were  to 
love  her,  her  life  would  be  exalted  into  something  quite  new 
— into  a sort  of  difficult  blessedness,  such  as  one  may 
imagine  in  beings  who  are  conscious  of  painfully  growing 
into  possession  of  higher  powers. 

It  was  quite  true  that  Felix  had  not  thought  the  more  of 
Esther  because  of  that  Sunday  afternoon’s  interview  which 
had  shaken  her  mind  to  the  very  roots.  He  had  avoided 
intruding  on  Mr.  Lyon  without  special  reason,  because  he 
believed  the  minister  to  be  preoccupied  with  some  private 
care.  He  had  thought  a great  deal  of  Esther  with  a mix- 
ture of  strong  disapproval  and  strong  liking,  which  both 
together  made  a feeling  the  reverse  of  indifference  ; but  he 
was  not  going  to  let  her  have  any  influence  on  his  life. 
Even  if  his  determination  had  not  been  fixed,  he  would 
have  believed  that  she  would  utterly  scorn  him  in  any  other 
light  than  that  of  an  acquaintance,  and  the  emotion  she  had 
shown  to-day  did  not  change  that  belief.  But  he  was  deeply 
touched  by  this  manifestation  of  her  better  qualities,  and 
felt  that  there  was  a new  tie  of  friendship  between  them. 
That  was  the  brief  history  Felix  would  have*  given  of  his 
relation  to  Esther.  And  he  was  accustomed  to  observe 
himself.  But  very  close  and  diligent  looking  at  living  crea- 
tures, even  through  the  best  microscope,  will  leave  room  for 
new  and  contradictory  discoveries. 

Felix  found  Mr.  Lyon  particularly  glad  to  talk  to  him. 
The  minister  had  never  yet  disburdened  himself  about  his 
letter  to  Mr.  Philip  Debarry  concerning  the  public  confer- 
ence ; a*nd  as  by  this  time  he  had  all  the  heads  of  his  dis- 
cussion thoroughly  in  his  mind,  it  was  agreeable  to  recite 
them,  as  well  as  to  express  his  regret  that  time  had  been 
lost  by  Mr.  Debarry’s  absence  from  the  Manor,  which  had 
prevented  the  immediate  fulfillment  of  his  pledge. 

“ I don’t  see  how  he  can  fulfill  it  if  the  rector  refuses,”  said 
Felix, thinking  it  well  to  moderate  the  little  man’s  confidence. 

“ The  rector  is  of  a spirit  that  will  not  incur  earthly 
impeachment,  and  he  cannot  refuse  what  is  necessary  to  his 
nephew’s  honorable^discharge  of  an  obligation,”  said  Mr. 
Lyon.  “ My  young  friend,  it  is  a case  wherein  the  prear- 
ranged conditions  tend  by  such  a beautiful  fitness  to  the 
issue  I have  sought,  that  I should  have  forever  held  myself 
a traitor  to  my  charge  had  I neglected  the  indication.” 


THE  RADICAL. 


205 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

“ T will  not  excuse  you  ; you  shall  not  be  excused  ; excuses  shall  not  be  admitted  ; 
there's  no  excuse  shall  serve  ; you  shall  not  be  excused.” — Henry  IV. 

When  Philip  Debarry  had  come  home  that  morning  and 
read  the  letters  which  had  not  been  forwarded  to  him,  he 
laughed  so  heartily  at  Mr.  Lyon’s  that  he  congratulated  him- 
self on  being  in  his  private  room.  Otherwise  his  laughter 
would  have  awakened  the  curiosity  of  Sir  Maximus,  and 
Philip  did  not  wish  to  tell  any  one  the  contents  of  the  letter 
until  he  had  shown  them  to  his  uncle.  He  determined  to 
ride  over  to  the  rectory  to  lunch  ; for  as  Lady  Mary  was 
away,  he  and  his  uncle  might  be  tete-a-tete. 

The  rectory  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  close  to 
the  church  of  which  it  was  the  fitting  companion  : a fine 
old  brick-and-stone  house,  with  a great  bow-window  open- 
ing from  the  library  on  to  the  deep-turfed  lawn,  one  fat 
dog  sleeping  on  the  door-stone,  another  fat  dog  waddling  on 
the  gravel,  the  autumn  leaves  duly  swept  away,  the  linger- 
ing chrysanthemums  cherished,  tall  trees  stooping  or  soar- 
ing in  the  most  picturesque  variety,  and  a Virginian  creeper 
turning  a little  rustic  hut  into  a scarlet  pavilion.  It  was  one 
of  those  rectories  which  are  among  the  bulwarks  of  our 
venerable  institutions — which  arrest  disintegrating  doubt, 
serve  as  a double  embankment  against  Popery  and  Dissent, 
and  rally  feminine  instinct  and  affection  to  reinforce  the 
decisions  of  masculine  thought. 

“What  makes  you  look  so  merry,  Phil  ?”  said  the  rector, 
as  his  nephew  entered  the  pleasant  library. 

“ Something  that  concerns  you,”  said  Philip,  taking  out 
the  letter.  “ A clerical  challenge.  Here’s  an  opportunity 
for  you  to  emulate  the  divines  of  the  sixteenth  century  and 
have  a theological  duel.  Read  this  letter.” 

“ What  answer  have  you  sent  the  crazy  little  fellow  ? ” 
said  the  rector,  keeping  the  letter  in  his  hand  and  running 
over  it  again  and  again,  with  brow  knit,  but  eyes  gleaming 
without  any  malignity. 

“Oh,  I sent  no  answer.  I awaited  yours.” 

“ Mine  ! ” said  the  rector,  throwing  down  the  letter  on 
the  table.  “ You  don’t  suppose  I’m  going  to  hold  a public 
debate  with  a schismatic  of  that  sort  ? I should  have  an 
infidel  shoemaker  next  expecting  me  to  answer  blasphemies 
delivered  in  bad  grammar.” 

“ But  you  see  how  he  puts  it,”  said  Philip.  With  all  his 
gravity  of  nature  he  could  not  resist  a slightly  mischievous 


206 


FELIX  HOLT, 


prompting,  though  he  had  a serious  feeling  that  he  should 
not  like  to  be  regarded  as  failing  to  fulfill  his  pledge.  “ 1 
think  if  you  refuse,  I shall  be  obliged  to  offer  myself.” 

“ Nonsense  ! Tell  him  he  is  himself  acting  a dishonora- 
ble part  in  interpreting  your  words  as  a pledge  to  do  any 
preposterous  thing  that  suits  his  fancy.  Suppose  he  had 
asked  you  to  give  him  land  to  build  a chapel  on  ; doubtless 
that  would  have  given  him  a ‘ lively  satisfaction/  A man 
who  puts  a non-natural,  strained  sense  on  a promise  is  no 
better  than  a robber.” 

“ But  he  has  not  asked  for  land.  I dare  say  he  thinks  you 
won’t  object  to  his  proposal.  I confess  there’s  a simplicity 
and  quaintness  about  the  letter  that  rather  pleases  me.” 

“ Let  me  tell  you,  Phil,  he’s  a crazy  little  firefly,  that  does 
a great  deal  of  harm  in  my  parish.  He  inflames  the  Dis- 
senters’ minds  on  politics.  -There’s  no  end  to  the  mischief 
done  by  these  busy,  prating  men.  They  make  the  ignorant 
multitude  the  judges  of  the  largest  questions,  both  political 
and  religious,  till  we  shall  soon  have  no  institution  left  that 
is  not  on  a level  with  the  comprehension  of  a huckster  or  a 
drayman.  There  can  be  nothing  more  retrograde — losing 
all  the  results  of  civilization,  all  the  lessons  of  Providence — 
letting  the  windlass  run  down  after  men  have  been  turning 
at  it  painfully  for  generations.  If  the  instructed  are  not  to 
judge  for  the  uninstructed,  why,  let  us  set  Dick  Stubbs  to 
make  our  almanacs,  and  have  a President  of  the  Royal  So- 
ciety elected  by  universal  suffrage.” 

The  rector  had  risen,  placed  himself  with  his  back  to  the 
fire,  and  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  ready  to  insist 
further  on  this  wide  argument.  Philip  ^at  nursing  one  leg, 
listening  respectfully,  as  he  always  did,  though  often  listening 
to  the  sonorous  echo  of  his  own  statements,  which  suited  his 
uncle’s  needs  so  exactly  that  he  did  not  distinguish  them  from 
his  own  impressions. 

“True,”  said  Philip  ; “but  in  special  cases  we  have  to  do 
with  special  conditions.  You  know  I defend  the  casuists. 
And  it  may  happen  that,  for  the  honor  of  the  church  in  Treby, 
and  a little  also  for  my  honor,  circumstances  may  demand  a 
concession  even  to  some  notions  of  a Dissenting  preacher.” 

“ Not  at  all.  1 should  be  making  a figure  which  my  brother 
clergy  might  well  take  as  an  affront  to  themselves.  The 
character  of  the  Establishment  has  suffered  enough  already 
through  the  Evangelicals,  with  their  extempore  incoherence 
and  their  pipe-smoking  piety.  Look  at  Wimple,  the  man 


THE  RADICAL.  20 7 

who  is  vicar  of  Shuttleton — without  his  gown  and  bands  any- 
body would  take  him  for  a grocer  in  mourning.,, 

“ Well,  I shall  cut  a still  worse  figure,  and  so  will  you,  in 
the  Dissenting  magazines  and  newspapers.  It  will  go  the 
round  of  the  kingdom.  There  will  be  a paragraph  headed, 
‘ Tory  Falsehood  and  Clerical  Cowardice,’  or  else,  ‘The 
Meanness  of  the  Aristocracy  and  the  Incompetence  of  the 
Beneficed  Clergy.’  ” 

“There  would  be  a worse  paragraph  if  I were  to  consent 
to  the  debate.  Of  course  it  would  be  said  that  I was  beaten 
hollow,  and,  that  now  the  question  had  been  cleared  up  at 
Treba  Magna,  the  Church  had  not  a sound  leg  to  stand  on. 
Besides,”  the  rector  went  on,  frowning  and  smiling,  “ it’s  all 
very  well  for  you  to  talk,  Phil  ; but  this  debating  is  not  so 
easy  when  a man’s  close  upon  sixty.  What  one  writes  or  says 
must  be  something  good  and  scholarly  ; and,  after  all  had 
been  done,  this  little  Lyon  would  buzz  about  one  like  a wasp, 
and  cross-question  and  rejoin.  Let  me  tell  you,  a plain  truth 
may  be  so  worried  and  mauled  by  fallacies  as  to  get  the  worst 
of  it.  There’s  no  such  thing  as  tiring  a talking-machine 
like  Lyon.” 

“ Then  you  absolutely  refuse  ? ” 

“Yes,  I do.” 

“ You  remember  that  when  I wrote  my  letter  of  thanks  to 
Lyon  you  approved  my  offer  to  serve  him  if  possible.” 

“ Certainly  I remember  it.  But  suppose  he  had  asked  you 
to  vote  for  civil  marriage,  or  to  go  and  hear  him  preach  every 
Sunday  ? ” 

“ But  he  has  not  asked  that.” 

“ Something  as  unreasonable,  though.” 

“ Well,”  said  Philip,  taking  up  Mr.  Lyon’s  letter  and  look- 
ing graver — looking  even  vexed,  “it  is  rather  an  unpleasant 
business  for  me.  I really  felt  obliged  to  him..  I think 
there’s  a sort  of  worth  in  the  man  beyond  his  class.  What- 
ever may  be  the  reason  of  the  case,  I shall  disappoint  him 
instead  of  doing  him  the  service  I offered.” 

“ Well,  that’s  a misfortune ; we  can’t  help  it.” 

“ The  worst  of  it  is,  I should  be  insulting  him  to  say,  ‘ I 
will  do  anything  else,  but  not  just  this  that  you  want.’  He 
evidently  feels  himself  in  company  with  Luther  and  Zwingle 
and  Calvin,  and  considers  our  letters  part  of  the  history  of 
Protestantism.” 

“Yes,  yes.  I know  it’s  rather  an  unpleasant  thing,  Phil. 
You  are  aware  that  I would  have  done  anything  in  reason 


2 o8 


FELIX  HOLT, 


to  prevent  you  from  becoming  unpopular  here.  I consider 
your  character  a possession  to  all  of  us.” 

“ I think  I must  call  on  him  forthwith  and  explain  and 
apologize.” 

“No,  sit  still ; I’ve  thought  of  something,”  said  the  rector, 
with  a sudden  revival  of  spirits.  “ I’ve  just  seen  Sherlock 
coming  in.  He  is  to  lunch  with  me  to-day.  It  would  do 
no  harm  for  him  to  hold  the  debate — a curate  and  a young 
man — he’ll  gain  by  it  ; and  it  would  release  you  from  any 
awkwardness,  Phil.  Sherlock  is  not  going  to  stay  here  long, 
you  know;  he’ll  soon  have  his  title.  I’ll  put  the  thing  to  him. 
He  won’t  object  if  I wish  it.  It’s  a capital  idea.  It  will  do 
Sherlock  good.  He’s  a clever  fellow,  but  he  wants  confidence.” 
Philip  had  not  time  to  object  before  Mr.  Sherlock  appeared 
— a young  divine  of  good  birth  and  figure,  of  sallow  com- 
plexion and  bashful  address. 

“ Sherlock,  you  have  come  in  most  opportunely,”  said  the 
rector.  “ A case  has  turned  up  in  the  parish  in  which  you 
can  be  of  eminent  use.  I know  that  is  what  you  have  desired 
ever  since  you  have  been  with  me.  But  I’m  about  so  much 
myself  that  there  really  has  not  been  sphere  enough  for  you. 
You  are  a studious  man, I know;  I dare  say  you  have  all  the  nec- 
essary matter  prepared — at  your  finger-ends, if  not  on  paper.” 
Mr.  Sherlock  smiled  with  rather  a trembling  lip,  willing 
to  distinguish  himself,  but  hoping  that  the  rector  only  alluded 
to  a dialogue  on  Baptism  by  Aspersion,  or  some  other 
pamphlet  suited  to  the  purposes  of  the  Christian  Knowledge 
Society.  But  as  the  rector  proceeded  to  unfold  the  circum- 
stances under  which  his  eminent  service  was  to  be  rendered, 
he  grew  more  and  more  nervous. 

“ You’ll  oblige  me  very  much,  Sherlock,”  the  rector  ended, 
“by  going  into  this  thing  zealously.  Can  you  guess  what  time 
you  will  require?  because  it  will  rest  with  us  to  fix  the  day.” 
“ I should  be  rejoiced  to  oblige  you,  Mr.  Debarry,  but  I 

really  think  I am  not  competent  to- ” 

“That’s  your  modesty,  Sherlock.  Don’t  let  me  hear  any 
more  of  that.  I know  Filmore  of  Corpus  said  you  might  be 
a first-rate  man  if  your  diffidence  didn’t  do  you  injustice. 
And  you  can  refer  anything  to  me,  you  know.  Come,  you 
will  set  about  the  thing  at  once.  But,  Phil,  you  must  tell 
the  preacher  to  send  a scheme  of  the  debate — all  the  differ- 
ent heaci^ — and  he  must  agree  to  keep  rigidly  within  the 
scheme.  There,  sit  down  at  my  desk  and  write  the  letter 
now  ; Thomas  shall  carry  it.” 


THE  RADICAL. 


20Q 


Philip  sat  down  to  write,  and  the  rector,  witli  his  firm 
ringing  voice,  went  on  at  his  ease,  giving  “indications”  to 
his  agitated  curate. 

“ But  you  can  begin  at  once  preparing  a good,  cogent, 
clear  statement,  and  considering  the  probable  points  of 
assault.  You  can  look  into  Jewel,  Hall,  Hooker,  Whitgift, 
and  the  rest : you’ll  find  them  all  here.  My  library  wants 
nothing  in  English  divinity.  Sketch  the  lower  ground  taken 
by  Usher  and  those  men,  but  bring  all  your  force  to  bear  on 
marking  out  the  true  High-Church  doctrine.  Expose  the 
wretched  cavils  of  the  Noncomformists,  and  the  noisy  futility 
that  belongs  to  schismatics  generally.  I will  give  you  a 
telling  passage  from  Burke  on  the  Dissenters,  and  some  good 
quotations  which  I brought  together  in  two  sermons  of  my 
own  on  the  Position  of  the  English  Church  in  Christendom. 
How  long  do  you  think  it  will  take  you  to  bring  your  thoughts 
together  ? You  can  throw  them  afterward  into  the  form  of 
an  essay  ; we'll  have  the  thing  printed ; it  will  do  you  good 
with  the  Bishop.” 

With  all  Mr.  Sherlock's  timidity,  there  was  fascination  for 
him  in  this  distinction.  He  reflected  that  he  could  take 
coffee  and  sit  up  late,  and  perhaps  produce  something  rather 
fine.  It  might  be  a first  step  toward  that  eminence  which 
it  was  no  more  than  his  duty  to  aspire  to.  Even  a polemi- 
cal fame  like  that  of  a Philpotts  must  have  had  a beginning. 
Mr.  Sherlock  was  not  insensible  to  the  pleasure  of  turning 
sentences  successfully,  and  it  was  a pleasure  not  always 
unconnected  with  preferment.  A diffident  man  likes  the 
idea  of  doing  something  remarkable,  which  will  create 
belief  in  him  without  any  immediate  display  of  brilliancy. 
Celebrity  may  blush  and  be  silent,  and  win  a grace  the  more. 
Thus  Mr.  Sherlock  was  constrained,  trembling  all  the  while, 
and  much  wishing  that  his  essay  were  already  in  print. 

“ I think  I could  hardly  be  ready  under  a fortnight.” 

“ Very  good.  Just  write  that,  Phil,  and  tell  him  to  fix  the 
precise  day  and  place.  And  then  we’ll  go  to  lunch.’' 

The  rector  was  quite  satisfied.  He  had  talked  himself 
into  thinking  that  he  should  like  to  give  Sherlock  a few  use- 
ful hints,  look  up  his  own  earlier  sermons,  and  benefit  the 
curate  by  his  criticism,  when  the  argument  had  been  got 
into  shape.  He  was  a healthy-natured  man,  but  that  was 
not  at  all  a reason  why  he  should  not  have  those  sensibilities 
to  the  odor  of  authorship  which  belong  to  almost  everybody 
who  is  not  expected  to  be  a writer — and  especially  to  that 


210 


FELIX  HOLT, 


form  of  authorship  which  is  called  suggestion,  and  consists 
in  telling  another  man  that  he  might  do  a great  deal  with  a 
given  subject,  by  bringing  a sufficient  amount  of  knowledge, 
reasoning,  and  wit  to  bear  upon  it. 

Philip  would  have  had  some  twinges  of  conscience  about 
the  curate,  if  he  had  not  guessed  that  the  honor  thrust  upon 
him  was  not  altogether  disagreeable.  The  Church  might 
perhaps  have  had  a stronger  supporter  ; but  for  himself,  he 
had  done  what  he  was  bound  to  do  : he  had  done  his  best 
toward  fulfilling  Mr.  Lyon’s  desire. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


If  he  come  not,  the  play  is  marred. — Midsummer  Night's  Dream . 


Rufus  Lyon  was  very  happy  on  that  mild  November 
morning  appointed  for  the  great  conference  in  the  larger 
room  at  the  Fre^  School,  between  himself  and  the  Reverend 
Theodore  Sherlock,  B.A.  The  disappointment  of  not  con- 
tending with  the  rector  in  person,  which  had  at  first  been  bit- 
ter, had  been  gradually  lost  sight  of  in  the  positive  enjoyment 
of  an  opportunity  for  debating  on  any  terms.  ‘Mr.  Lyon  had 
two  grand  elements  of  pleasure  on  such  occasions  : confi- 
dence in  the  strength  of  his  case,  and  confidence  in  his  own 
power  of  advocacy.  Not — to  use  his  own  phrase — not  that 
“ he  glorified  himself  herein for  speech  and  exposition  were 
so  easy  to  him,  that  if  he  argued  forcibly,  he  believed  it  to 
be  simply  because  the  truth  was  forcible.  He  was  not  proud 
of  moving  easily  in  his  native  medium.  A panting  man 
thinks  of  himself  as  a clever,  swimmer  ; but  a fish  swims  much 
better,  and  takes  his  performance  as  a matter  of  course. 

Whether  Mr.  Sherlock  were  that  panting,  self-gratulating 
man,  remained  a secret.  Philip  Debarry,  much  occupied 
with  his  electioneering  affairs,  had  only  once  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  asking  his  uncle  how  Sherlock  got  on,  and  the  rec- 
tor had  said,  curtly,  “ I think  he’ll  do.  I’ve  supplied  him 
well  with  references.  I advise  him  to  read  only,  and  decline 
everything  else  as  out  of  order.  Lyon  will  speak  to  a point,  and 
then  Sherlock  will  read:  it  will  be  all  the  more  telling.  It  will 
give  variety.”  But  on  this  particular  morning  peremptory 
business  connected  with  the  magistracy  called  the  rector  away. 

Due  notice  had  been  given,  and  the  feminine  world  of 
Treby  Magna  was  much  more  agitated  by  the  prospect  than 
by  that  of  any  candidate’s  speech.  Mrs.  Pendrell  at  the 
Bank,  Mrs.  Tiliot,  and  the  Church  ladies  generally  felt  bound 
to  hear  the  curate,  who  was  known,  apparently  by  an  intui- 


THE  RADICAL. 


21 1 


tion  concerning  the  nature  of  curates,  to  be  a very  clever 
young  man  ; and  he  would  show  them  what  learning  had  to 
say  on  the  right  side.  One  or  two  Dissenting  ladies  were 
not  without  emotion  at  the  thought  that,  seated  on  the  front 
benches,  they  should  be  brought  near  to  old  Church  friends, 
and  have  a longer  greeting  than  had  taken  place  since  the 
Catholic  Emancipation.  Mrs.  Muscat,  who  had  been  a beauty, 
and  was  as  nice  in  her  millinery  as  any  Trebian  lady  be- 
longing to  the  Establishment,  reflected  that  she  should  put 
on  her  best  embroidered  collar,  and  that  she  should  ask  Mrs. 
Tiliot  where  it  was  in  Duffield  that  she  once  got  her  bed- 
hanging dyed  so  beautifully.  When  Mrs.  Tiliot  was  Mary 
Salt,  the  two  ladies  had  been  bosom  friends  ; but  Mr.  Tiliot 
looked  higher  and  higher  since  his  gin  had  become  so  famous; 
and  in  the  year  ’29  he  had,  in  Mr.  Muscat’s  hearing,  spoken 
of  Dissenters  as  sneaks — a personality  which  could  not  be 
overlooked. 

The  debate  was  to  begin  at  eleven,  for  the  rector  would 
not  allow  the  evening  to  be  chosen,  when  low  men  and  boys 
might  want  to  be  admitted  out  of  mere  mischief.  This  was 
one  reason  why  the  female  part  of  the  audience  outnum- 
bered the  males.  But  some  chief  Trebians  were  there,  even 
men  whose  means  made  them  as  independent  of  theory  as 
Mr.  Pendrell  and  Mr.  Wace  ; encouraged  by  reflecting  that 
they  were  not  in  a place  of  worship,  and  would  not  be 
obliged  to  stay  longer  than  they  chose.  There  was  a muster 
of  all  Dissenters  who  could  spare  the  morning  time,  and  on 
the  back  benches  were  all  the  aged  Churchwomen  who 
shared  the  remnants  of  the  sacrament  wine,  and  who  were 
humbly  anxious  to  neglect  nothing  ecclesiastical  or  con- 
nected with  “going  to  a better  place.” 

At  eleven  the  arrival  of  listeners  seemed  to  have  ceased. 
Mr.  Lyon  was  seated  on  the  school  tribune  or  dais  at  his 
particular  round  table  ; another  round  table,  with  a chair, 
awaited  the  curate,  with  whose  superior  position  it  was  quite 
in  keeping  that  he  should  not  be  the  first  on  the  ground.  A 
couple  of  extra  chairs  were  placed  farther  back,  and  more 
than  one  important  personage  had  been  requested  to  act  as 
chairman  ; but  no  Churchman  would  place  himself  in  a posi- 
tion so  equivocal  as  to  dignity  of  aspect,  and  so  unequivocal  as 
to  the  obligation  of  sitting  out  the  discussion  ; and  the  rec- 
tor had  beforehand  put  a veto  on  any  Dissenting  chairman. 

Mr.  Lyon  sat  patiently  absorbed  in  his  thoughts,  with  his 
notes  in  minute  handwriting  lying  before  him,  seeming  to 


212 


FELIX  HOLT, 


look  at  the  audience,  but  not  seeing  them.  Every  one  else 
was  contented  that  there  should  be  an  interval  in  which  there 
could  be  a little  neighborly  talk. 

Esther  was  particularly  happy,  seated  on  a side-bench 
near  her  father’s  side  of  the  tribune,  with  Felix  close  behind 
her,  so  that  she  could  turn  her  head  and  talk  to  him.  He 
had  been  very  kind  ever  since  that  morning  when  she  had 
called  at  his  home,  more  disposed  to  listen  indulgently  to 
what  she  had  to  say,  and  less  blind  to  her  looks  and  move- 
ments. If  he  had  never  railed  at  her  or  ignored  her,  she 
would  have  been  less  sensitive  to  the  attention  he  gave  her ; 
but  as  it  was,  the  prospect  of  seeing  him  seemed  to  light  up 
her  life,  and  to  disperse  the  old  dullness.  She  looked  un- 
usually charming  to-day,  from  the  very  fact  that  she  was  not 
vividly  conscious  of  anything  but  of  having  a mind  near  her 
that  asked  her  to  be  something  better  than  she  actually  was. 
The  consciousness  of  her  own  superiority  amongst  the  people 
around  her  was  superseded,  and  even  a few  brief  weeks  had 
given  a softened  expression  to  her  eyes,  a more  feminine 
beseechingness  and  self-doubt  to  her  manners.  Perhaps,  how- 
ever, a little  new  defiance  was  rising  in  place  of  the  old  con- 
tempt— defiance  of  the  Trebian  views  about  Felix  Holt. 

“ What  a very  nice-looking  young  woman  your  minister’s 
daughter  is?”  said  Mrs.  Tiliot  in  an  undertone  to  Mrs. 
Muscat,  who,  as  she  had  hoped,  had  found  a seat  next  her 
quondam  friend — “quite  the  lady.” 

“ Rather  too  much  so,  considering,”  said  Mrs.  Muscat. 
“She’s  thought  proud,  and  that  is  not  pretty  in  a girl,  even  if 
there  was  anything  to  back  it  up.  But  now  she  seems  to  be 
encouraging  that  young  Holt,  who  scoffs  at  everything,  as 
you  may  judge  by  his  appearance.  She  has  despised  his 
betters  before  now  ; but  I leave  you  to  judge  whether  a young 
man  who  has  taken  to  low  ways  of  getting  a living  can  pay 
for  fine  cambric  handkerchiefs  and  light  kid  gloves.” 

Mrs.  Muscat  lowered  her  blonde  eyelashes  and  swayed  her 
neat  head  just  perceptibly  from  side  to  side,  with  a sincere 
desire  to  be  moderate  in  her  expressions,  notwithstanding 
any  shock  that  facts  might  have  given  her. 

“Dear,  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Tiliot.  “What!  that  is  young 
Holt  leaning  forward  now  without  a cravat  ? I’ve  never 
seen  him  before  to  notice  him,  but  I’ve  heard  Tiliot  talking 
about  him.  They  say  he’s  a dangerous  character,  and  goes 
stirring  up  the  workingmen  at  Sproxton.  And — well,  to  be 
sure,  such  great  eyes  and  such  a great  head  of  hair — it  is 


THE  RADICAL.  213 

enough  to  frighten  one.  What  can  she  see  in  him  ? Quite 
below  her.” 

“ Yes,  and  brought  up  a governess,”  said  Mrs.  Muscat ; 
“ you’d  have  thought  she’d  knovved  better  how  to  choose. 
But  the  minister  has  let  her  get  the  upper  hand  sadly  too 
much.  It’s  a pity  in  a man  of  God.  I don’t  deny  he’s  that." 

“ Well,  I am  sorry,”  said  Mrs.  Tiliot,  “ for  I meant  her  to 
give  my  girls  lessons  when  they  came  from  school/’ 

Mr.  Wace  and  Mr.  Pendrell  meanwhile  were  standing  up 
and  looking  round  at  the  audience,  nodding  to  their  fellow- 
townspeople  with  the  affability  due  from  men  in  their  position. 

“ It’s  time  he  came  now,”  said  Mr.  Wace,  looking  at  his 
watch  and  comparing  it  with  the  schoolroom  clock.  “ This 
debating  is  a new-fangled  sort  of  thing  ; but  the  rector  would 
never  have  given  in  to  it  if  there  hadn’t  been  good  reasons. 
Nolan  said  he  wouldn’t  come.  He  says  this  debating  is  an 
atheistical  sort  of  thing  ; the  Atheists  are  very  fond  of  it. 
Theirs  is  a bad  book  to  take  a leaf  out  of.  However,  we 
shall  hear  nothing  but  what’s  good  from  Mr.  Sherlock.  He 
preaches  a capital  sermon — for  such  a young  man.” 

“ Well,  it  was  our  duty  to  support  him — not  to  leave  him 
alone  among  the  Dissenters,”  said  Mr.  Pendrell.  “ You  see 
everybody  hasn’t  felt  that.  Labron  might  have  shown  him- 
self, if  not  Lukyn.  I could  have  alleged  business  myself  if 
I had  thought  proper.” 

“ Here  he  comes,  I think,”  said  Mr.  Wace,  turning  round 
on  hearing  a movement  near  the  small  door  on  a level  with 
the  platform.  “ By  George!  it’s  Mr.  Debarry.  Come  now, 
this  is  handsome.” 

Mr.  Wace  and  Mr.  Pendrell  clapped  their  hands,  and  the 
example  was  followed  even  by  most  of  the  Dissenters. 
Philip  was  aware  that  he  was  doing  a popular  thing,  of  a 
kind  that  Treby  was  not  used  to  from  the  elder  Debarrys  ; 
but  his  appearance  had  not  been  long  premeditated.  He 
was  driving  through  the  town  toward  an  engagement  at  some 
distance,  but  on  calling  at  Labron’s  office  he  had  found  that 
the  affair  which  demanded  his  presence  had  been  deferred, 
and  so  had  driven  round  to  the  Free  School.  Christian 
came  in  behind  him. 

Mr.  Lyon  was  now  roused  from  his  abstraction,  and,  step- 
ping from  his  slight  elevation,  begged  Mr.  Debarry  to  act  as 
moderator  or  president  on  the  occasion. 

“With  all  my  heart,”  said  Philip.  “But  Mr.  Sherlock 
has  not  arrived,  apparently  ?” 


214 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ He  tarries  somewhat  unduly/’  said  Mr.  Lyon.  “ Never- 
theless there  may  be  a reason  of  which  we  know  not.  Shall 
I collect  the  thoughts  of  the  assembly  by  a brief  introduc- 
tory address  in  the  interval  ? ” 

“ No,  no,  no,”  said  Mr.  Wace,  who  saw  a limit  to  his 
powers  of  endurance.  “ Mr.  Sherlock  is  sure  to  be  here  in 
a minute  or  two/’ 

“ Christian,”  said  Philip  Debarry,  who  felt  a slight  mis- 
giving, “ just  be  so  good — but  stay,  I’ll  go  myself.  Excuse 
me,  gentlemen:  I’ll  drive  round  to  Mr.  Sherlock’s  lodgings. 
He  may  be  under  a little  mistake  as  to  the  time.  Studious 
men  are  sometimes  rather  absent-minded.  You  needn’t 
come  with  me,  Christian.” 

As  Mr.  Debarry  went  out,  Rufus  Lyon  stepped  on  to  the 
tribune  again  in  rather  an  uneasy  state  of  mind.  A few 
ideas  had  occurred  to  him,  eminently  fitted  to  engage  the 
audience  profitably,  and  so  to  wrest  some  edification  out  of 
an  unforeseen  delay.  But  his  native  delicacy  made  him  feel 
that  in  this  assembly  the  Church  people  might  fairly  decline 
any  “ deliverance  ” on  his  part  which  exceeded  the  pro- 
gramme, and  Mr.  Wace’s  negative  had  been  energetic.  But 
the  little  man  suffered  from  imprisoned  ideas,  and  was  as  rest- 
less as  a racer  held  in.  He  could  not  sit  down  again, but  walked 
backward  and  forward,  stroking  his  chin, emitting  his  low  gut- 
tural interjections  under  the  pressure  of  clauses  and  sentences 
which  he  longed  to  utter  aloud,  as  he  would  have  done  in  his 
own  study.  There  was  alow  buzz  in  the  room  which  helped 
to  deepen  the  minister’s  sense  that  the  thoughts  within  him 
were  as  divine  messengers  unheeded  or  rejected  by  a trivial 
generation.  Many  of  the  audience  were  standing  ; all,  ex- 
cept the  old  Church  women  on  the  back  seats,  and  a few  devout 
Dissenters  who  kept  their  eyes  shut  and  gave  their  bodies 
a gentle  oscillating  motion,  were  interested  in  chat. 

“ Your  father  is  uneasy,”  said  Felix  to  Esther. 

“ Yes  ; and  now,  I think,  he  is  feeling  for  his  spectacles. 
I hope  he  has  not  left  them  at  home  : he  will  not  be  able  to 
see  anything  two  yards  before  him  without  them  ; — and  it 
makes  him  so  unconscious  of  what  people  expect  or  want.” 

“ I’ll  go  and  ask  him  whether  he  has  them,”  said  Felix, 
striding  over  the  form  in  front  of  him,  and  approaching  Mr. 
Lyon,  whose  face  showed  a gleam  of  pleasure  at  this  relief 
from  his  abstracted  isolation. 

“ Miss  Lyon  is  afraid  that  you  are  at  a loss  for  your  spec- 
tacles, sir,”  said  Felix. 


THE  RADICAL. 


215 


“ My  dear  young  friend/'  said  Mr.  Lyon,  laying  his  hand 
on  Felix  Holt’s  fore-arm,  which  was  about  on  a level  with 
the  minister’s  shoulder,  “ it  is  a very  glorious  truth,  albeit 
made  somewhat  painful  to  me  by  the  circumstances  of  the 
present  moment,  that  as  a counterpoise  to  the  brevity  of  our 
mortal  life  (wherein,  as  I apprehend,  our  powers  are  being 
trained  not  only  for  the  transmission  of  an  improved  heri- 
tage, as  I have  heard  you  insist,  but  also  for  our  own  entrance 
into  a higher  initiation  in  the  Divine  scheme) — it  is,  I say, 
a very  glorious  truth,  that  even  in  what  are  called  the  waste 
minutes  of  our  time,  like  those  of  expectation,  the  soul  may 
soar  and  range,  as  in  some  of  our  dreams  which  are  brief  as 
a broken  rainbow  in  duration,  yet  seem  to  comprise  a long 
history  of  terror  or  joy.  And  again,  each  moment  may  be 
a beginning  of  a new  spiritual  energy  ; and  our  pulse  would 
doubtless  be  a coarse  and  clumsy  notation  of  the  passage 
from  that  which  was  not  to  that  which  is,  even  in  the  finer 

processes  of  the  material  world — and  how  much  more ” 

Esther  was  watching  her  father  and  Felix,  and  though  she 
was  not  within  hearing  of  what  was  being  said,  she  guessed 
the  actual  state  of  the  case — that  the  enquiry  about  the  spec- 
tacles had  been  unheeded,  and  that  her  father  was  losing 
himself  and  embarrassing  Felix  in  the  intricacies  of  a disser- 
tation. There  was  not  the  stillness  around  her  that  would 
have  made  a movement  on  her  part  seem  conspicuous,  and 
she  was  impelled  by  her  anxiety  to  step  on  the  tribune  and 
walk  up  to  her  father,  who  paused  a little  startled. 

“ Pray  see  whether  you  have  forgotten  your  spectacles, 
father.  If  so,  I will  go  home  at  once  and  look  for  them.” 
Mr.  Lyon  was  automatically  obedient  to  Esther,  and  he 
began  immediately  to  feel  in  his  pockets. 

“ How  is  it  that  Miss  Jermyn  is  so  friendly  with  the  Dis- 
senting parson  ? ’’said  Christian  to  Quorlen,  the  Tory  printer, 
who  was  an  intimate  of  his.  “ Those  grand  Jermyns  are  not 
Dissenters  surely  ? ” 

“ What  Miss  Jermyn  ? ” 

“ Why— don’t  you  see  ? — that  fine  girl  who  is  talking  to 
him.” 

“ Miss  Jermyn  ! Why,  that’s  the  little  parson's  daughter.” 
“ His  daughter!  ” Christian  gave  a low  brief  whistle,  which 
seemed  a natural  expression  of  surprise  that  “the  rusty  old 
ranter  ” should  have  a daughter  of  such  distinguished  appear- 
ance. 

Meanwhile  the  search  for  the  spectacles  had  proved  vain. 


2l6 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ 'Tis  a grievous  fault  in  me,  my  dear,”  said  the  little  man, 
humbly  ; “ I become  thereby  sadly  burdensome  to  you.” 

“ I will  go  at  once,”  said  Esther,  refusing  to  let  Felix  go 
instead  of  her.  But  she  had  scarcely  stepped  off  the  tribune 
when  Mr.  Debarry  re-entered,  and  there  was  a commotion 
which  made  her  wait.  After  a low-toned  conversation  with 
Mr.  Pendrell  and  Mr.  Wace,  Philip  Debarry  stepped  on  to 
the  tribune  with  his  hat  in  his  hand  and  said,  with  an  air  of 
much  concern  and  annoyance — 

“ I am  sorry  to  have  to  tell  you,  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
that — doubtless  owing  to  sonre  accidental  cause  which  I 
trust  will  soon  be  explained  as  nothing  serious — Mr.  Sher- 
lock is  absent  from  his  residence  and  is  not  to  be  found. 
He  went  out  early,  his  landlady  informs  me,  to  refresh  him- 
self by  a walk  on  this  agreeable  morning,  as  is  his  habit,  she 
tells  me, when  he  has  been  kept  up  late  by  study;  and  he  has  not 
returned.  Do  not  let  us  be  too  anxious.  I shall  cause  enquiry 
to  be  made  in  the  direction  of  his  walk.  It  is  easy  to  imagine 
many  accidents,  not  of  a grave  character,  by  which  he  might 
nevertheless  be  absolutely  detained  against  his  will.  Under 
these  circumstances,  Mr.  Lyon,”  continued  Philip,  turning  to 
the  minister,  “I  presume  that  the  debate  must  be  adjourned.” 
“ The  debate,  doubtless,”  began  Mr.  Lyon  ; but  his 
farther  speech  was  drowned  by  a general  rising  of  the  Church 
people  from  their  seats,  many  of  them  feeling  that,  even  if 
the  cause  were|lamentable,the  adjournment  was  not  altogether 
disagreeable. 

“ Good  gracious  me  ! ” said  Mrs.  Tiliot,  as  she  took  her 
husband’s  arm,  “ I hope  the  poor  young  man  hasn’t  fallen 
into  the  river  or  broken  his  leg.” 

But  some  of  the  more  acrid  Dissenters,  whose  temper 
was  not  controlled  by  the  habits  of  retail  business,  had  be- 
gun to  hiss,  implying  that  in  their  interpretation  the  curate’s 
absence  had  not  depended  on  any  injury  to  life  or  limb. 

“ He’s  turned  tail,  sure  enough,”  said  Mr.  Muscat  to  the 
neighbor  behind  him,  lifting  his  eyebrows  and  shoulders,  and 
laughing  in  a way  that  showed  that,  deacon  as  he  was,  he 
looked  at  the  affair  in  an  entirely  secular  light. 

But  Mrs.  Muscat  thought  it  would  be  nothing  but  right 
to  have  all  the  waters  dragged,  agreeing  in  this  with  the 
majority  of  the  Church  ladies. 

“ I regret  sincerely,  Mr.  Lyon,”  said  Philip  Debarry, 
addressing  the  minister  with  politeness,  “ that  I must  say 
good-morning  to  you,  with  the  sense  that  I have  not  beeq 


THE  RADICAL.  21  7 

able  at  present  to  contribute  to  your  satisfaction  as  I had 
wished.” 

“ Speak  not  of  it  in  the  way  of  apology,  sir,”  said  Mr. 
Lyon,  in  a tone  of  depression.  “ I doubt  not  that  you  your- 
self have  acted  in  good  faith.  Nor  will  I open  any  door  of 
egress  to  constructions  such  as  anger  often  deems  ingenious, 
but  which  the  disclosure  of  the  simple  truth  may  expose  as 
erroneous  and  uncharitable  fabrications.  I wish  you  good- 
morning, sir.” 

When  the  room  was  cleared  of  the  Church  people,  Mr. 
Lyon  wished  to  soothe  his  own  spirit  and  that  of  his  flock  by 
a few  reflections  introductory  to  a parting  prayer.  But  there 
was  a general  resistance  to  this  effort.  The  men  mustered 
round  the  minister  and  declared  their  opinion  that  the  whole 
thing  was  disgraceful  to  the  Church.  Some  said  that  the  cu- 
rate’s absence  had  been  contrived  from  the  first.  Others  more 
than  hinted  that  it  had  been  a folly  in  Mr.  Lyon  to  set  on 
foot  any  procedure  in  common  with  Tories  and  clergymen, 
who,  if  they  ever  aped  civility  to  Dissenters,  would  never 
do  anything  but  laugh  at  them  in  their  sleeves.  Brother 
Kemp  urged  in  his  heavy  bass  that  Mr.  Lyon  should  lose 
no  time  in  sending  an  account  of  the  affair  to  the  Patriot  ; 
and  brother  Hawkins,  in  his  high  tenor,  observed  that  it  was 
an  occasion  on  which  some  stinging  things  might  be  said 
with  all  the  extra  effect  of  an  apropos. 

The  position  of  receiving  a many-voiced  lecture  from  the 
members  of  his  church  was  familiar  to  Mr.  Lyon  ; but  now 
he  felt  weary,  frustrated,  and  doubtful  of  his  own  temper. 
Felix,  who  stood  by  and  saw  that  this  man  of  sensitive  fibre 
was  suffering  from  talkers  whose  noisy  superficiality  cost 
them  nothing,  got  exasperated.  “ It  seems  to  me,  sirs,”  he 
burst  in,  with  his  predominant  voice,  “ that  Mr.  Lyon  has 
hitherto  had  the  hard  part  of  the  business,  while  you  of  his 
congregation  have  had  the  easy  one.  Punish  the  Church 
clergy,  if  you  like — they  can  take  care  of  themselves.  But 
don’t  punish  your  own  minister.  It’s  no  business  of  mine, 
perhaps,  except  so  far  as  fair-play  is  everybody’s  business  ; 
but  it  seems  to  me  the  time  to  ask  Mr.  Lyon  to  take  a little 
rest,  instead  of  setting  on  him  like  so  many  wasps.” 

By  this  speech  Felix  raised  a displeasure  which  fell  on  the 
minister  as  well  as  on  himself ; but  he  gained  his  immediate 
end.  The  talkers  dropped  off  after  a slight  show  of  per- 
sistence, and  Mr.  Lyon  quitted  the  field  of  no  combat  with 
a small  group  of  his  less  imperious  friends,  to  whom  he  con- 


FELIX  HOLT, 


2l8 

fided  his  intention  of  committing  his  argument  fully  to  paper, 
and  forwarding  it  to  a discriminating  editor. 

“ But  regarding  personalities,”  he  added,  “ I have  not  the 
same  clear  showing.  For,  say  that  this  young  man  was  pusil- 
lanimous— I were  but  ill-provided  with  arguments  if  I took 
my  stand  even  for  a moment  on  so  poor  an  irrelevancy  as 
that  because  one  curate  is  ill  furnished  therefore  Episcopacy 
is  false.  If  I held  up  any  one  to  just  obloquy,  it  would  be 
the  well- designated  Incumbent  of  this  parish,  who,  calling 
himself  one  of  the  Church  militant,  sends  a young  and  weak- 
kneed  substitute  to  take  his  place  in  the  fight.” 

Mr.  Philip  Debarry  did  not  neglect  to  make  industrious 
enquiry  concerning  the  accidents  which  had  detained  the 
Reverend  Theodore  Sherlock  on  his  morning  walk.  That 
well-intentioned  young  divine  was  seen  no  more  in  Treby 
Magna.  But  the  river  was  not  dragged,  for  by  the  evening 
coach  the  rector  received  an  explanatory  letter.  The 
Reverend  Theodore’s  agitation  had  increased  so  much  dur- 
ing his  walk,  that  the  passing  coach  had  been  a means  of 
deliverance  not  to  be  resisted  ; and,  literally  at  the  eleventh 
hour,  he  had  hailed  and  mounted  the  cheerful  Tally-ho  ! and 
carried  away  his  portion  of  the  debate  in  his  pocket. 

But  the  rector  had  subsequently  the  satisfaction  of  receiv- 
ing Mr.  Sherlock’s  painstaking  production  in  print,  with  a 
dedication  to  the  Reverend  Augustus  Debarry,  a motto 
from  St.  Chrysostom,  and  other  additions,  the  fruit  of  ripen- 
ing leisure.  He  was  “ sorry  for  poor  Sherlock,  who  wanted 
confidence  ” ; but  he  was  convinced  that  for  his  own  part  he 
had  taken  the  course  which  under  the  circumstances  was  the 
least  compromising  to  the  Church.  Sir  Maximus,  however, 
observed  to  his  son  and  brother  that  he  had  been  right  and 
they  had  been  wrong  as  to  the  danger  of  vague,  enormous 
expressions  of  gratitude  to  a Dissenting  preacher,  and  on 
any  differences  of  opinion  seldom  failed  to  remind  them  of 
that  precedent. 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

Your  fellow-man  ? — Divide  the  epithet : 

Say  rather,  you’re  the  fellow,  he  the  mant 

When  Christian  quitted  the  Free  School  with  the  dis- 
covery that  the  young  lady  whose  appearance  had  first 
startled  him  with  an  indefinable  impression  in  the  market- 
place was  the  daughter  of  the  old  Dissenting  preacher  who 
had  shown  so  much  agitated  curiosity  about  his  name,  he 


THE  RADICAL. 


219 


felt  very  much  like  an  uninitiated  chess-player,  who  sees 
that  the  pieces  are  in  a peculiar  position  on  the  board,  and 
might  open  the  way  for  him  to  give  checkmate,  if  he  only 
knew  how.  Ever  since  his  interview  with  Jermyn,  his  mind 
had  been  occupied  with  the  charade  it  offered  to  his  inge- 
nuity. What  was  the  real  meaning  of  the  lawyer’s  interest  in 
him,  and  in  his  relations  with  Maurice  Christian  Bycliffe  ? 
Here  was  a secret  ; and  secrets  were  often  a source  of  profit, 
of  that  agreeable  kind  which  involved  little  labor.  Jermyn 
had  hinted  at  profit  which  might  possibly  come  through 
him  ; but  Christian  said  inwardly,  with  well-satisfied  self- 
esteem, that  he  was  not  so  pitiable  a nincompoop  as  to  trust 
Jermyn.  On  the  contrary,  the  only  problem  before  him  was 
to  find  out  by  what  combination  of  independent  knowledge 
he  could  outwit  Jermyn,  elude  any  purchase  the  attorney 
had  on  him  through  his  past  history,  and  get  a handsome 
bonus,  by  which  a somewhat  shattered  man  of  pleasure  might 
live  well  without  a master.  Christian,  having  early  exhausted 
the  more  impulsive  delights  of  life,  had  become  a sober  cal- 
culator ; and  he  had  made  up  his  mind  that,  for  a man  who 
had  long  ago  run  through  his  own  money,  servitude  in  a 
great  family  was  the  best  kind  of  retirement  after  that  of  a 
pensioner ; but  if  a better  chance  offered,  a person  of  talent 
must  not  let  it  slip  through  his  fingers.  He  held  various 
ends  of  threads,  but  there  was  danger  of  pulling  at  them  too 
impatiently.  He  had  not  forgotten  the  surprise  which  had 
made  him  drop  the  punch-ladle,  when  Mr.  Crowder,  talking 
in  the  steward’s  room,  had  said  that  a scamp  named  Henry 
Scaddon  had  been  concerned  in  a lawsuit  about  the  Transome 
estate.  Again,  Jermyn  was  the  family  lawyer  of  the  Tran- 
somes  ; he  knew  of  the  exchange  of  names  between  Scaddon 
and  Bycliffe  ; he  clearly  wanted  to  know  as  much  as  he  could 
about  Bycliffe’s  history.  The  conclusion  wasnot  remote  that 
Bycliffe  had  had  some  claim  on  the  Transome  property,  and 
that  a difficulty  had  arisen  from  his  being  confounded  with 
Henry  Scaddon.  But  hitherto  the  other  incident  which  had 
been  apparently  connected  with  the  interchange  of  names — 
Mr.  Lyon’s  demand  that  he  should  write  down  the  name 
Maurice  Christian,  accompanied  with  the  question  whether 
that  were  his  whole  name — had  had  no  visible  link  with 
the  inferences  arrived  at  through  Crowder  and  Jermyn. 

The  discovery  made  this  morning  at  the  Free  School  that 
Esther  was  the  daughter  of  the  Dissenting  preacher  at 
last  suggested  a possible  link.  Until  then,  Christian  had 


220 


FELIX  HOLT 


not  known  why  Esther’s  face  had  impressed  him  so  pecu- 
liarly ; but  the  minister’s  chief  association  for  him  was  with 
Bycliffe,  and  that  association  served  as  a flash  to  show  him 
that  Esther’s  features  and  expression,  and  still  more  her 
bearing,  now  she  stood  and  walked,  revived  Bycliffe’s  image. 
Daughter  ? There  were  various  ways  of  being  a daughter. 
Suppose  this  were  a case  of  adoption  : suppose  Bycliffe  were 
known  to  be  dead,  or  thought  to  be  dead.  “ Begad,  if  the  old 
parson  had  fancied  the  original  father  was  come  to  life  again, 
it  was  enough  to  frighten  him  a little.  Slow  and  steady,”  Chris- 
tian said  to  himself ; “ I’ll  get  some  talk  with  the  old  man 
again.  He’s  safe  enough:  one  can  handle  him  without  cutting 
one’s  self.  I’ll  tell  him  I knew  Bycliffe,  and  was  his  fellow- 
prisoner.  I’ll  worm  out  the  truth  about  this  daughter.  Could 
pretty  Annette  have  married  again,  and  married  this  little 
scare-crow?  There’s  no  knowing  what  a woman  will  not  do.” 

Christian  could  see  no  distinct  result  for  himself  from  his 
industry  : but  if  there  were  to  be  any  such  result,  it  must  be 
reached  by  following  out  every  clue  ; and  to  the  non-legal 
mind  there  are  dim  possibilities  in  law  and  heirship  which 
prevent  any  issue  from  seeming  too  miraculous. 

The  consequence  of  these  meditations  was,  that  Christian 
hung  about  Treby  more  than  usual  in  his  leisure  time,  and 
that  on  the  first  opportunity  he  accosted  Mr.  Lyon  in  the 
street  with  suitable  civility,  stating  that  since  the  occa- 
sion which  had  brought  them  together  some  weeks  before  he 
had  often  wished  to  renew  their  conversation, and,  with  Mr. 
Lyon’s  permission,  would  now  ask  to  do  so.  After  being 
assured,  as  he  had  been  by  Jermyn,  that  this  courier,  who  had 
happened  by  some  accident  to  possess  the  memorable  locket 
and  pocket-book, was  certainly  notAnnette’s  husband, and  was 
ignorant  whether  Maurice  Christian  Bycliffe  were  living  or 
dead,  the  minister’s  mind  had  become  easy  again;  his  habitual 
lack  of  interest  in  personal  details  rendering  him  gradually  ob- 
livious of  Jermyn’s  precautionary  statement  that  he  was  pur- 
suing enquiries,  and  that  if  anything  of  interest  turned  up,  Mr. 
Lyon  should  be  made  acquainted  with  it.  Hence,  when  Chris- 
tian addressed  him,  the  minister,  taken  by  surprise  and  shaken 
by  the  recollections  of  former  anxieties,  said,  helplessly — 
“ If  it  is  business,  sir,  you  would  perhaps  do  better  to  ad- 
dress yourself  to  Mr.  Jermyn.” 

He  could  not  have  said  anything  that  was  a more  valua- 
ble hint  to  Christian.  He  inferred  that  the  minister  had 
made  a confidant  of  Jermyn,  and  it  was  needful  to  be  wary. 


THE  RADICAL. 


221 


“ On  the  contrary,  sir,”  he  answered,  “ it  may  be  of  the  ut- 
most importance  to  you  that  what  passes  between  us  should 
not  be  known  to  Mr.  Jermyn.” 

Mr.  Lyon  was  perplexed,  and  felt  at  once  that  he  was  no 
more  in  clear  daylight  concerning  Jermyn  than  concerning 
Christian.  He  dared  not  neglect  the  possible  duty  of  hear- 
ing what  this  man  had  to  say,  and  he  invited  him  to  proceed 
to  Malthouse  Yard,  where  they  could  converse  in  private. 

Once  in  Mr.  Lyon’s  study,  Christian  opened  the  dialogue 
by  saying  that  since  he  was  in  this  room  before  it  had  oc- 
curred to  him  that  the  anxiety  he  had  observed  in  Mr.  Lyon 
might  be  owing  to  some  acquaintance  with  Maurice  Chris- 
tian Bycliffe — -a  fellow-prisoner  in  France,  whom  he,  Chris- 
tian, had  assisted  in  getting  freed  from  his  imprisonment, 
and  who,  in  fact,  had  been  the  owner  of  the  trifles  which 
Mr.  Lyon  had  recently  had  in  his  possession  and  had  re- 
stored. Christian  hastened  to  say  that  he  knew  nothing  of 
Bycliffe’s  history  since  they  had  parted  in  France,  but  that 
he  knew  of  his  marriage  with  Annette  Ledru,  and  had  been 
acquainted  with  Annette  herself.  He  would  be  very  glad  to 
know  what  became  of  Bycliffe,  if  he  could,  for  he  liked  him 
uncommonly. 

Here  Christian  paused  ; but  Mr.  Lyon  only  sat  changing 
color  and  trembling.  This  man’s  bearing  and  tone  of  mind 
were  made  repulsive  to  him  by  being  brought  in  contact  with 
keenly-felt  memories,  and  he  could  not  readily  summon  the 
courage  to  give  answers  or  ask  questions. 

“ May  I ask  if  you  knew  my  friend  Bycliffe  ? ” said  Chris- 
tian, trying  a more  direct  method. 

“ No,  sir  ; I never  saw  him.” 

“ Ah  ! well — you  have  seen  a very  striking  likeness  of  him. 
It’s  wonderful — unaccountable  ; but  when  I saw  Miss  Lyon 
at  the  Free  School  the  other  day,  I could  have  sworn  she 
was  Bycliffe’s  daughter.” 

“ Sir  ! ” said  Mr.  Lyon,  in  his  deepest  tone,  half  rising, 
and  holding  by  the  arms  of  his  chair,  “ these  subjects  touch 
me  with  too  sharp  a point  for  you  to  be  justified  in  thrusting 
them  on  me  out  of  mere  levity.  Is  there  any  good  you 
seek  or  any  injury  you  fear  in  relation  to  them  ?” 

“ Precisely,  sir.  We  shall  come  to  an  understanding. 
Suppose  I believed  that  the  young  lady  who  goes  by  the 
name  of  Miss  Lyon  was  the  daughter  of  Bycliffe?” 

Mr.  Lyon  moved  his  lips  silently. 

“ And  suppose  I had  reason  to  suspect  that  there  would 


222  FELIX  HOLt, 

be  some  great  advantage  for  her  if  the  law  knew  who  was 
her  father  ? ” 

“ Sir  ! ” said  Mr.  Lyon,  shaken  out  of  all  reticence.  “ I 
would  not  conceal  it.  She  believes  herself  to  be  my  daugh- 
ter. But  I will  bear  all  things  rather  than  deprive  her  of  a 
right.  Nevertheless  I appeal  to  the  pity  of  any  fellow-man, 
not  to  thrust  himself  between  her  and  me,  but  to  let  me  dis- 
close the  truth  to  her  myself.” 

“All  in  good  time,”  said  Christian.  “We  must  do  noth- 
ing rash.  Then  Miss  Lyon  is  Annette’s  child?” 

The  minister  shivered  as  if  the  edge  of  a knife  had  been 
drawn  across  his  hand.  But  the  tone  of  this  question,  by  the 
fact  that  it  intensified  his  antipathy  to  Christian,  enabled 
him  to  collect  himself  for  what  must  be  simply  the  endu- 
rance of  a painful  operation.  After  a moment  or  two  he  said 
more  coolly,  “ It  is  true,  sir.  Her  mother  became  my  wife. 
Proceed  with  any  statement  which  may  concern  my  duty.” 
“ I have  no  more  to  say  than  this  : if  there’s  a prize  that 
the  law  might  hand  over  to  Bycliffe’s  daughter,  I am  much 
mistaken  if  there  isn’t  a lawyer  who’ll  take  precious  good 
care  to  keep  the  law  hoodwinked.  And  that  lawyer  is  Mat 
Jermyn.  Why,  my  good  sir,  if  you’ve  been  taking  Jermyn 
into  your  confidence,  you’ve  been  setting  the  fox  to  keep  off 
the  weasel.  It  strikes  me  that  when  you  were  made  a little 
anxious  about  those  articles  of  poor  Bycliffe’s, you  put  Jermyn 
on  making  enquiries  of  me.  Eh  ? I think  I am  right  ? ” 

“ I do  not  deny  it.” 

“ Ah  ! — it  was  very  well  you  did,  for  by  that  means  I’ve 
found  that  he’s  got  hold  of  some  secrets  about  Bycliffe 
which  he  means  to  stifle.  Now,  sir,  if  you  desire  any  justice 
for  your-  daughter — step-daughter,  I should  say — don’t  so 
much  as  wink  to  yourself  before  Jermyn  ; and  if  you’ve  got 
any  papers  or  things  of  that  sort  that  may  come  in  evidence, 
as  these  confounded  rascals  the  lawyers  call  it,  clutch  them 
tight,  for  if  they  get  into  Jermyn’s  hands  they  may  soon  fly 
up  the  chimney.  Have  I said  enough  ? ” 

“ I had  not  purposed  any  further  communication  with 
Mr.  Jermyn,  sir;  indeed,  I have  nothing  further  to  commu- 
nicate. Except  that  one  fact  concerning  my  daughter’s 
birth,  which  I have  erred  in  concealing  from  her,  I neither 
seek  disclosures  nor  do  I tremble  before  them.” 

“Thenlhave  your  word  that  you  will  be  silent  about  this  con- 
versation between  us?  It  is  for  your  daughter’s  interest, mind.” 
“Sir,  I shall  be  silent,”  said  Mr.  Lyon,  with  cold  gravity. 


THE  RADICAL. 


223 


“Unless,”  he  added,  with  an  acumen  as  to  possibilities 
rather  disturbing  to  Christian’s  confident  contempt  for  the 
old  man— “ unless  I were  called  upon  by  some  tribunal  to 
declare  the  whole  truth  in  this  relation  ; in  which  case  I 
should  submit  myself  to  that  authority  of  investigation 
which  is  a requisite  of  social  order.” 

Christian  departed,  feeling  satisfied  that  he  had  got  the  ut- 
most to  be  obtained  at  present  out  of  theDissenting  preacher, 
whom  he  had  not  dared  to  question  more  closely.  He  must  look 
out  for  chance  lights,  and  perhaps,  too,  he  might  catch  a stray 
hint  by  stirring  the  sediment  of  Mr.  Crowder’s  memory.  But 
he  must  not  venture  on  enquiries  that  might  be  noticed. 

When  Mr.  Lyon  was  alone  he  paced  up  and  down  among 
his  books,  and  thought  aloud,  in  order  to  relieve  himself 
after  the  constraint  of  this  interview.  “ I will  not  wait  for  the 
urgency  of  necessity,”  he  said  more  than  once.  “ I will  tell 
the  child  without  compulsion.  And  then  I shall  fear  noth- 
ing. And  an  unwonted  spirit  of  tenderness  has  filled  her  of 
late.  She  will  forgive  me.” 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Consideration  like  an  angel  came 

And  whipped  the  offending  Adam  out  of  her; 

Leaving  her  body  as  a paradise 
To  envelope  and  contain  celestial  spirits. 

— Shakespeare  : Henry  V \ 

The  nex^  morning,  after  much  prayer  for  the  needful 
strength  and  wisdom,  Mr.  Lyon  came  down  stairs  with  the 
resolution  that  another  day  should  not  pass  without  the  ful- 
fillment of  the  task  he  had  laid  on  himself:  but  what  hour  he 
should  choose  for  this  solemn  disclosure  to  Esther  must  de- 
pend on  their  mutual  occupations.  Perhaps  he  must  defer 
it  till  they  sat  up  alone  together,  after  Lyddy  was  gone  to 
bed.  But  at  breakfast  Esther  said — 

“ To-day  is  a holiday,  father.  My  pupils  are  all  going  to 
Duffield  to  see  the  wild  beasts.  What  have  you  got  to  do 
to-day?  Come,  you  are  eating  no  breakfast.  Oh,  Lyddy, 
Lyddy,  the  eggs  are  hard  again.  I wish  you  would  not  read 
Alleyne’s  < Alarm  ’ before  breakfast ; it  makes  you  cry  and  for- 
get the  eggs.” 

“ They  are  hard,  and  that’s  the  truth  ; but  there’s  hearts 
as  are  harder,  Miss  Esther,”  said  Lyddy. 

“ I think  not,”  said  Esther.  “ This  is  leathery  enough  for 
the  heart  of  the  most  obdurate  Jew.  Pray  give  it  little  Zach- 
ary  for  a football.” 


224 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ Dear,  dear,  don't  you  be  so  light,  miss.  We  may  all  be 
dead  before  night." 

“You  speak  out  of  season,  my  good  Lyddy,”  said  Mr. 
Lyon,  wearily  ; “ depart  into  the  kitchen." 

“What  have  you  got  to  do  to-day,  father?"  persisted 
Esther.  “I  have  a holiday." 

Mr.  Lyon  felt  as  if  this  were  a fresh  summons  not  to  de- 
lay. “ I have  something  of  great  moment  to  do,  my  dear; 
and  since  you  are  not  otherwise  demanded,  I will  ask  you  to 
come  and  sit  with  me  up-stairs." 

Esther  wondered  what  there  could  be  on  her  father’s  mind 
more  pressing  than  his  morning  studies. 

Soon  she  knew.  Motionless,  but  mentally  stirred  as  she 
had  never  been  before,  Esther  listened  to  her  mother’s  story, 
and  to  the  outpouring  of  her  step-father’s  long-pent-up  ex- 
perience. The  rays  of  the  morning  sun  which  fell  athwart 
the  books,  the  sense  of  the  beginning  day  had  deepened  the 
solemnity  more  than  night  would  have  done.  All  knowledge 
which  alters  our  lives  penetrates  us  more  when  it  comes  in 
the  early  morning  : the  day  that  has  to  be  travelled  with  some- 
thing new  and  perhaps  forever  sad  in  its  light,  is  an  image  of 
the  life  that  spreads*beyond.  Butat  night  the  time  of  rest  is  near. 

Mr.  Lyon  regarded  his  narrative  as  a confession — as  a 
revelation  to  this  beloved  child  of  his  own  miserable  weak- 
ness and  error.  But  to  her  it  seemed  a revelation  of  another 
sort : her  mind  seemed  suddenly  enlarged  by  a vision  of  pas- 
sion and  struggle,  of  delight  and  renunciation,  in  the  lot  of 
beings  who  had  hitherto  been  a dull  enigma  to  her.  And 
in  the  act  of  unfolding  to  her  that  he  was  not  her  real  father, 
but  had  only  striven  to  cherish  her  as  a father,  had  only 
longed  to  be  loved  as  a father,  the  odd,  wayworn,  unworldly 
man  became  the  object  of  a new  sympathy  in  which  Esther 
exulted.  Perhaps  this  knowledge  would  have  been  less 
powerful  within  her,  but  for  the  mental  preparation  that  had 
come  during  the  last  two  months  from  her  acquaintance  with 
Felix  Holt,  which  had  taught  her  to  doubt  the  infallibility  of 
her  own  standard,  and  raised  a presentiment  of  moral  depths 
that  were  hidden  from  her. 

Esther  had  taken  her  place  opposite  to  her  father,  and 
had  not  moved  even  her  clasped  hands  while  he  was  speak- 
ing. But  after  the  long  outpouring  in  which  he  seemed  to 
lose  the  sense  of  everything  but  the  memories  he  was  giving 
utterance  to,  he  paused  a little  while,  and  then  said  timidly — 

“ This  is  a late  retrieval  of  a long  error,  Esther.  I make 


THE  RADICAL.  225 

not  excuses  for  myself,  for  we  ought  to  strive  that  our  affec- 
tions be  rooted  in  the  truth.  Nevertheless  you ” 

Esther  had  risen,  and  had  glided  on  to  the  wooden  stool 
on  a level  with  her  father’s  chair,  where  he  was  accustomed 
to  lay  books.  She  wanted  to  speak,  but  the  flood-gates 
could  not  be  opened  for  words  alone.  She  threw  her  arms 
round  the  old  man’s  neck  and  sobbed  out  with  a passionate 
cry,  ‘‘Father,  father  ! forgive  me  if  I have  not  loved  you 
enough.  I will — I will  ! ” 

The  old  man’s  little  delicate  frame  was  shaken  by  a surprise 
and  joy  that  was  almost  painful  in  their  intensity.  He  had 
been  going  to  ask  forgiveness  of  her  who  asked  it  for  herself. 
In  that  moment  of  supreme  complex  emotion  on^ray  of  the 
minister’s  joy  was  the  thought,  “Surely  the  work  of  grace  is  be- 
gun in  her — surely  here  is  a heart  that  the  Lord  hath  touched.” 

They  sat  so,  enclasped  in  silence,  while  Esther  relieved 
her  full  heart.  When  she  raised  her  head,  she  sat  quite  still 
for  a minute  or  two  looking  fixedly  before  her,  and  keep- 
ing one  little  hand  in  the  minister’s.  Presently  she  looked 
at  him  and  said — 

“ Then  you  lived  like  a workingman,  father  ; you  were 
very,  very  poor.  Yet  my  mother  had  been  used  to  luxury, 
She  was  well  born — she  was  a lady  ? ” 

“ It  is  true,  my  dear  ; it  was  a poor  life  that  I could 
give  her.” 

Mr.  Lyon  answered  in  utter  dimness  as  to  the  course 
Esther’s  mind  was  taking.  He  had  anticipated  before  his 
disclosure,  from  his  long-standing  discernment  of  tenden- 
cies in  her  which  were  often  the  cause  of  silent  grief  to  him, 
that  the  discovery  likely  to  have  the  keenest  interest  for  her 
would  be  that  her  parents  had  a higher  rank  than  that  of 
the  poor  Dissenting  preacher  ; but  she  had  shown  that 
other  and  better  sensibilities  were  predominant.  He 
rebuked  himself  now  for  a hasty  and  shallow  judgment  con- 
cerning the  child’s  inner  life,  and  waited  for  new  clearness. 

“ But  that  must  be  the  best  life,  father,”  said  Esther, 
suddenly  rising,  with  a flush  across  her  paleness,  and  stand- 
ing with  her  head  thrown  a little  backward,  as  if  some 
illumination  had  given  her  a new  decision.  “ That  must  be 
the  best  life.” 

“ What  life,  my  dear  child  ? ” 

“ Why,  that  where  one  bears  and  does  everything  because 
of  some  great  and  strong  feeling — so  that  this  and  that  in 
one’s  circumstances  don’t  signify.” 


226 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ Yea,  verily  ; but  the  feeling  that  should  be  thus  supreme 
is  devotedness  to  the  Divine  Will.” 

Esther  did  not  speak  ; her  father’s  words  did  not  fit  on 
to  the  impressions  wrought  in  her  by  what  he  had  told  her. 
She  sat  down  again,  and  said,  more  quietly — 

“ Mamma  did  not  speak  much  of  my — first  father  ? 99 
“ Not  much,  dear.  She  said  he  was  beautiful  to  the  eye, and 
good  and  generous  ; and  that  his  family  was  of  those  who  had 
been  long  privileged  among  their  fellows.  But  now  I will  de- 
liver to  you  the  letters,  which,  together  with  the  ring  and  locket, 
are  the  only  visible  memorials  she  retained  of  him.” 

Mr.  Lyon  reached  and  delivered  to  Esther  the  box  contain- 
ing the  relics.  “Take  them,  and  examine  them  in  privacy,  my 
dear.  And  that  I may  no  more  err  by  concealment,  I will  tell 
you  some  late  occurrences  that  bear  on  these  memorials, though 
to  my  present  apprehension  doubtfully  and  confusedly.” 

He  then  narrated  to  Esther  all  that  had  passed  between 
himself  and  Christian.  The  possibility — to  which  Mr. 
Lyon’s  alarms  had  pointed— that  her  real  father  might  still 
be  living,  was  a new  shock.  She  could  not  speak  about  it 
to  her  present  father,  but  it  was  registered  in  silence  as  a 
painful  addition  to  the  uncertainties  which  she  suddenly 
saw  hanging  over  her  life. 

“ I have  little  confidence  in  this  man’s  allegations,”  Mr. 
Lyon  ended.  “ I confess  his  presence  and  speech  are  to 
me  as  the  jarring  of  metal.  He  bears  the  stamp  of  one  who 
has  never  conceived  aught  of  more  sanctity  than  the  lust  of 
the  eye  and  the  pride  of  life.  He  hints  at  some  possible 
inheritance  for  you,  and  denounces  mysteriously  the  devices 
of  Mr.  Jermyn.  All  this  may  or  may  not  havq  a true 
foundation.  But  it  is  not  my  part  to  move  in  this  matter 
save  on  a clear  showing.” 

“ Certainly  not,  father,”  said  Esther,  eagerly.  A little 
while  ago,  these  problematic  prospects  might  have  set  her 
dreaming  pleasantly  ; but  now,  for  some  reasons  that  she 
could  not  have  put  distinctly  into  words,  they  affected  her 
with  dread. 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

To  hear  with  eyes  is  part  of  love’s  rare  wit. 

—Shakespeare  ; Sonnets . 

Custom  calls  me  to’t  ; 

What  custom  wills,  in  all  things  should  we  do’t. 

The  dust  on  antique  time  would  lie  unswept, 

And  mountainous  error  be  too  highly  heaped 

For  truth  to  over-peer. — Coriolanus . 

In  the  afternoon  Mr.  Lyon  went  out  to  see  the  sick 


THE  RADICAL. 


22  7 


amongst  his  flock,  and  Esther,  who  had  been  passing  the 
morning  in  dwelling  on  the  memories  and  the  few  remaining 
relics  of  her  parents,  was  left  alone  in  the  parlor  amidst  the 
lingering  odors  of  the  early  dinner,  not  easily  got  rid  of  in 
that  small  house.  Rich  people,  who  know  nothing  of  these 
vulgar  details,  can  hardly  imagine  their  significance  in  the 
history  of  multitudes  of  human  lives  in  which  the  sensibili- 
ties are  never  adjusted  to  the  external  conditions.  Esther 
always  felt  so  much  discomfort  from  those  odors  that  she 
usually  seized  any  possibility  of  escaping  from  them,  and 
to-day  they  oppressed  her  the  more  because  she  was  weary 
with  long-continued  agitation.  Why  did  she  not  put  on  her 
bonnet  as  usual  and  get  out  into  the  open  air  ? It  was  one 
of  those  pleasant  November  afternoons — pleasant  in  the 
wide  country — when  the  sunshine  is  on  the  clinging  brown 
leaves  of  the  young  oaks,  and  the  last  yellow  leaves  of  the  elms 
flutter  down  in  the  fresh  but  not  eager  breeze.  But  Esther  sat 
still  on  the  sofa — pale  and  with  reddened  eyelids,  her  curls  all 
pushed  back  carelessly,  and  her  elbow  resting  on  the  ridgy 
black  horsehair,  which  usually  almost  set  her  teeth  on  edge 
if  she  pressed  it  even  through  her  sleeve — while  her  eyes 
rested  blankly  on  the  dull  street.  Lyddy  had  said,  “ Miss, 
you  look  sadly  ; if  you  can’t  take  a walk,  go  and  lie  down.” 
She  had  never  seen  the  curls  in  such  disorder,  and  she 
reflected  that  there  had  been  a death  from  typhus  recently. 
But  the  obstinate  Miss  only  shook  her  head. 

Esther  was  waiting  for  the  sake  of — not  a probability,  but 
— a mere  possibility,  which  made  the  brothy  odors  endur- 
able. Apparently,  in  less  than  half  an  hour,  the  possibil- 
ity came  to  pass,  for  she  changed  her  attitude,  almost 
started  from  her  seat,  sat  down  again,  and  listened  eagerly. 
If  Lyddy  should  send  him  away,  could  she  herself  rush  out 
and  call  him  back  ? Why  not  ? Such  things  were  permis- 
sible where  it  was  understood,  from  the  necessity  of  the 
case,  that  there  was  only  friendship.  But  Lyddy  opened 
the  door  and  said,  “ Here’s  Mr.  Holt,  Miss,  wants  to  know  if 
you’ll  give  him  leave  to  come  in.  I told  him  you  was  sadly.” 
“ Oh,  yes,  Lyddy,  beg  him  to  come  in.” 

“ I should  not  have  persevered,”  said  Felix,  as  they  shook 
hands,  “only  I know  Lyddy’s  dismal  way.  But  you  do  look 
ill,”  he  went  on,  as  he  seated  himself  at  the  other  end  of  the 
sofa.  “ Or  rather — for  that’s  a false  way  of  putting  it — you 
look  as  if  you  had  been  very  much  distressed.  Do  you  mind 
about  my  taking  notice  of  it  ? ” 


228 


FELIX  HOLT, 


He  spoke  very  kindly,  and  looked  at  her  more  persistently 
than  he  had  ever  done  before,  when  her  hair  was  perfect. 

“ You  are  quite  right.  I am  not  at  all  ill.  But  I have 
been  very  much  agitated  this  morning.  My  father  has  been 
telling  me  things  I never  heard  before  about  my  mother,  and 
giving  me  things  that  belonged  to  her.  She  died  when  I was 
a very  little  creature.” 

“ Then  it  is  no  new  pain  or  trouble  for  you  and  Mr.  Lyon  ? 
I could  not  help  being  anxious  to  know  that.” 

Esther  passed  her  hand  over  her  brow  before  she  answered. 
“ I hardly  know  whether  it  is  pain,  or  something  better  than 
pleasure.  It  has  made  me  see  things  I was  blind  to  before 
— depths  in  my  father’s  nature.” 

As  she  said  this,  she  looked  at  Felix,  and  their  eyes  met 
very  gravely. 

“It  is  such  a beautiful  day,”  he  said,  “it  would  do  you 
good  to  go  into  the  air.  Let  me  take  you  along  the  river 
toward  Little  Treby,  will  you  ?” 

“ I will  put  my  bonnet  on,”  said  Esther,  unhesitatingly, 
though  they  had  never  walked  out  together  before. 

It  is  true  that  to  get  into  the  fields  they  had  to  pass  through 
the  street ; and  when  Esther  saw  some  acquaintances,  she 
reflected  that  her  walking  alone  with  Felix  might  be  a sub- 
ject of  remark — all  the  more  because  of  his  cap,  patched 
boots,  no  cravat,  and  thick  stick.  Esther  was  a little  amazed 
herself  at  what  she  had  come  to.  So  our  lives  glide  on  : the 
river  ends  we  don’t  know  where,  and  the  sea  begins,  and 
there  is  no  more  jumping  ashore. 

When  they  were  in  the  streets  Esther  hardly  spoke. 
Felix  talked  with  his  usual  readiness,  as  easily  as  if  he  were 
not  doing  it  solely  to  divert  her  thoughts,  first  about  Job 
Tudge’s  delicate  chest,  and  the  probability  that  the  little 
white-faced  monkey  would  not  live  long  ; and  then  about  a 
miserable  beginning  of  a night-school,  which  was  all  he 
could  get  together  at  Sproxton,  and  the  dismalness  of  that 
hamlet,  which  was  a sort  of  lip  to  the  coalpit  on  one  side 
and  the  “public  ” on  the  other — and  yet  a paradise  com- 
pared with  the  wyndsof  Glasgow,  where  there  was  little  more 
than  a chink  of  daylight  to  show  the  hatred  in  women’s  faces. 

But  soon  they  got  into  the  fields,  where  there  was  a right 
of  way  toward  Little  Treby,  now  following  the  course  of  the 
river,  now  crossing  toward  a lane,  and  now  turning  into  a 
cart-track  through  a plantation. 

“ Here  we  are  ! ” said  Felix,  when  they  had  crossed  the 


THE  RADICAL. 


229 


wooden  bridge,  and  were  treading  on  the  slanting  shadows 
made  by  the  elm-trunks.  “ I think  this  is  delicious.  I never 
feel  less  unhappy  than  in  these  late  autumn  afternoons  when 
they  are  sunny.’, 

“ Less  unhappy  ! There  now  ! ” said  Esther,  smiling  at 
him  with  some  of  her  habitual  sauciness,  “ I have  caught 
you  in  self-contradiction.  I have  heard  you  quite  furious 
against  puling,  melancholy  people.  If  I had  said  what  you 
have  just  said,  you  would  have  given  me  a long  lecture,  and 
told  me -to  go  home  and  interest  myself  in  the  reason  of  the 
rule-of-three.” 

“ Very  likely,”  said  Felix,  beating  the  weeds,  according  to 
the  foible  of  our  common  humanity  when  it  has  a stick  in 
its  hand.  “ But  I don’t  think  myself  a fine  fellow  because 
I’mhnelancholy.  I don’t  measure  my  force  by  the  negations 
in  me,  and  think  my  soul  must  be  a mighty  one  because  it  is 
more  given  to  idle  suffering  than  to  beneficent  activity.  That’s 
what  your  favorite  gentlemen  do, of  the  Byronic-bilious  style.” 
“ I don’t  admit  that  those  are  my  favorite  gentlemen.” 
“I've  heard  you  defend  them — gentlemen  like  your  Renes, 
who  have  no  particular  talent  for  the  finite,  but  a general 
sense  that  the  infinite  is  the  right  thing  for  them.  They  might 
as  well  boast  of  nausea  as  a proof  of  a strong  inside.” 

“ Stop,  stop  ! You  run  on  in  that  way  to  get  out  of  my 
reach.  I convicted  you  of  confessing  that  you  are  melancholy.” 
“ Yes,”  said  Felix,  thrusting  his  left  hand  into  his  pocket, 
with  a shrug  ; “ as  I could  confess  to  a great  many  other 
things  I’m  not  proud  of.  The  fact  is,  there  are  not  many 
easy  lots  to  be  drawn  in  the  world  at  present  ; and  such  as 
they  are  I am  not  envious  of  them.  I don’t  say  life  is  not 
worth  having  to  a man  who  has  some  sparks  of  sense  and 
feeling  and  bravery  in  him.  And  the  finest  fellow  of  all 
would  be  the  one  who  could  be  glad  to  have  lived  because 
the  world  was  chiefly  miserable,  and  his  life  had  come  to 
help  some  one  who  needed  it.  He  would  be  the  man  who 
had  the  most  powers  and  the  fewest  selfish  wants.  But  I’m 
not  up  to  the  level  of  what  I see  to  be  best.  I’m  often  a 
hungry  discontented  fellow.” 

“ Why  have  you  made  your  life  so  hard  then  ? ” said  Esther, 
rather  frightened  as  she  asked  the  question.  “ It  seems  to 
me  you  have  tried  to  find  just  the  most  difficult  task.” 

“Not  at  all,”  said  Felix,  with  curt  decision.  “ My  course 
was  a very  simple  one.  It  was  pointed  out.  to  me  by  con- 
ditions that  I saw  as  clearly  as  I see  the  bars  of  this  stile, 


230 


FELIX  HOLT, 


It’s  a difficult  stile  too,”  added  Felix,  striding  over.  “ Shall 
I help  you,  or  will  you  be  left  to  yourself  ? ” 

“ I can  do  without  help,  thank  you.” 

“ It  was  simple  enough,”  continued  Felix,  as  they  walked 
on.  “ If  I meant  to  put  a stop  to  the  sale  of  those  drugs,  I 
must  keep  my  mother,  and  of  course  at  her  age  she  would 
not  leave  the  place  she  had  been  used  to.  And  I had  made 
up  my  mind  against  what  they  call  genteel  business.” 

“ But  suppose  every  one  did  as  you  do  ? Please  to  forgive 
me  for  saying  so  ; but  I cannot  see  why  you  could  not  have 
lived  as  honorably  with  some  employment  that  presupposes 
education  and  refinement.” 

“Because  you  can’t  see  my  history  or  my  nature,”  said  Felix, 
bluntly.  “ I have  to  determine  for  myself,  and  not  for  other 
men.  I don’t  blame  them,  or  think  I am  better  than  they;  their 
circumstances  are  different.  I would  never  choose  to  with- 
draw myself  from  the  labor  and  common  burden  of  the  world; 
but  I do  choose  to  withdraw  myself  from  the  push  and  the 
scramble  for  money  and  position.  Any  man  is  at  liberty  to  call 
me  a fool,  and  say  that  mankind  are  benefited  by  the  push  and 
the  scramble  in  the  long-run.  But  I care  for  the  people  who 
live  now  and  will  not  be  living  when  the  long-run  comes.  As 
'it  is,  I prefer  going  shares  with  the  unlucky.” 

Esther  did  not  speak,  and  there  was  silence  between  them 
for  a minute  or  two,  till  they  passed  through  a gate  into  a 
plantation  where  there  was  no  large  timber,  but  only  thin- 
stemmed trees  and  underwood,  so  that  the  sunlight  fell  on 
the  mossy  spaces  which  lay  open  here  and  there. 

“ See  how  beautiful  those  stooping  birch-stems  are  with 
the  light  on  them!  ” said  Felix.  “ Here  is  an  old  felled 
trunk  they  have  not  thought  worth-  carrying  away.  Shall 
we  sit  down  a little  while  ? ” 

“ Yes  ; the  mossy  ground  with  the  dry  leaves  sprinkled 
over  it  is  delightful  to  one’s  feet.”  Esther  sat  down  and  took 
off  her  bonnet,  that  the  light  breeze  might  fall  on  her  head. 
Felix,  too,  threw  down  his  cap  and  stick,  lying  on  the  ground 
with  his  back  against  the  felled  trunk. 

“ I wish  I felt  more  as  you  do,”  she  said,  looking  at  the 
point  of  her  foot,  which  was  playing  with  a tuft  of  moss.  “ I 
can’t  help  caring  very  much  what  happens  to  me.  And  you 
seem  to  care  so  little  about  yourself.” 

“ You  are  thoroughly  mistaken,”  said  Felix.  “It  is  just 
because  I’m  a very  ambitious  fellow,  with  very  hungry  pas- 
sions, wanting  a great  deal  to  satisfy  me,  that  I have  chosen 


THE  RADICAL. 


231 


to  give  up  what  people  call  worldly  good.  At  least  that  has 
been  one  determining  reason.  It  all  depends  on  what  a man 
gets  into  his  consciousness — what  life  thrusts  into  his  mind, 
so  that  it  becomes  present  to  him  as  remorse  is  present  to 
the  guilty,  or  a mechanical  problem  to  an  inventive  genius. 
There  are  two  things  I’ve  got  present  in  that  way  : one  of 
them  is  the  picture  of  what  I should  hate  to  be.  I’m  deter- 
mined never  to  go  about  making  my  face  simpering  or  sol- 
emn, and  telling  professional  lies  for  profit;  or  to  get  tangled 
in  affairs  where  I must  wink  at  dishonesty  and  pocket  the 
proceeds,  and  justify  that  knavery  as  part  of  a system  that  I 
can’t  alter.  If  I once  went  into  that  sort  of  struggle  for 
success  I should  want  to  win — I should  defend  the  wrong 
that  I had  once  identified  myself  with.  I should  become  every- 
thing that  I see  now  beforehand  to  be  detestable.  And  what’s 
more,  I should  do  this,  as  men  are  doing  it  every  day,  for  a 
ridiculously  small  prize — perhaps  for  none  at  all — perhaps  for 
the  sake  of  two  parlors,  a rank  eligible  for  the  churchwarden- 
ship,  a discontented  wife,  and  several  unhopeful  children.” 

Esther  felt  a terrible  pressure  on  her  heart — the  certainty 
of  her  remoteness  from  Felix — the  sense  that  she  was  utterly 
trivial  to  him. 

“ The  other  thing  that’s  got  into  my  mind  like  a splinter,” 
said  Felix,  after  a pause,  “is  the  life  of  the  miserable 
— the  spawning  life  of  vice  and  hunger.  I’ll  never  be  one 
of  the  sleek  dogs.  The  old  Catholics  are  right,  with  their 
higher  rule  and  their  lower.  Some  are  called  to  subject 
themselves  to  a harder  discipline,  and  renounce  things  vol- 
untarily which  are  lawful  for  others.  It  is  the  old  word — 
‘ necessity  is  laid  upon  me. 

“ It  seems  to  me  you  are  stricter  than  my  father  is.” 

“ No  ; I quarrel  with  no  delight  that  is  not  base  or  cruel, 
but  one  must  sometimes  accommodate  one’s  self  to  a small 
share.  That  is  the  lot  of  the  majority.  I would  wish  the 
minority  joy,  only  they  don’t  want  my  wishes.” 

Again  there  was  silence.  Esther’s  cheeks  were  hot  in 
spite  of  the  breeze  that  sent  her  hair  floating  backward. 
She  felt  an  inward  strain,  a demand  on  her  to  see  things  in  a 
light  that  was  not  easy  or  soothing.  When  Felix  had  asked 
her  to  walk  he  seemed  so  kind,  so  alive  to  what  might  be 
her  feelings,  that  she  had  thought  herself  nearer  to  him  than 
she  had  ever  been  before  ; but  since  they  had  come  out  he 
had  appeared  to  forget  all  that.  And  yet  she  was  conscious 
that  this  impatience  of  hers  was  very  petty.  Battling  in  this 


232 


FELIX  HOLT, 


way  with  her  own  little  impulses,  and  looking  at  the  birch- 
stems  opposite  till  her  gaze  was  too  wide  for  her  to  see  any- 
thing distinctly,  she  was  unaware  how  long  they  had  remained 
without  speaking.  She  did  not  know  that  Felix  had  changed 
his  attitude  a little,  and  was  resting  his  elbow  on  the  tree- 
trunk,  while  he  supported  his  head,  which  was  turned  toward 
her.  Suddenly  he  said,  in  a lower  tone  than  was  habitual  to  him : 
“ You  are  very  beautiful.’* 

She  started  and  looked  round  at  him,  to  see  whether  his 
face  would  give  some  help  to  the  interpretation  of  this  novel 
speech.  He  was  looking  up  at  her  quite  calmlyj  very  much 
as  a reverential  Protestant  might  look  at  a picture  of  the 
Virgin,  with  a devoutness  suggested  by  the  type  rather  than 
by  the  image.  Esther’s  vanity  was  not  in  the  least  gratified; 
she  felt  that, somehow  or  other, Fqlix  was  going  to  reproach  her. 

“I  wonder,*’  he  went  on,  still  looking  at  her,  “whether  the 
subtle  measuring  of  forces  will  ever  come  to  measuring  the  force 
there  would  be  in  one  beautiful  woman  whose  mind  was  as  no- 
ble as  her  face  was  beautiful — who  made  a man’s  passion  for 
her  rush  in  one  current  with  all  the  great  aims  of  his  life.” 
Esther’s  eyes  got  hot  and  smarting.  It  was  no  use  trying 
to  be  dignified.  She  had  turned  away  her  head,  and  now 
said,  rather  bitterly,  “ It  is  difficult  for  a woman  ever  to  try 
to  be  anything  good  when  she  is  not  believed  in — when  it  is 
always  supposed  that  she  must  be  contemptible.” 

“No,  dear  Esther” — it  was  the  first  time  Felix  had  been 
prompted  to  call  her  by  her  Christian  name,  and  as  he  did 
so  he  laid  his  large  hand  on  her  two  little  hands,  which  were 
clasped  on  her  knees.  “ You  don’t  believe  that  I think  you 

contemptible.  When  I first  saw  you ” 

“ I know,  I know,”  said  Esther,  interrupting  him  impetu- 
ously, but  still  looking  away.  “ You  mean  you  did  think  me 
contemptible  then.  But  it  was  very  narrow  of  you  to  judge 
me  in  that  way,  when  my  life  had  been  so  different  from 
yours.  I have  great  faults.  I know  I am  selfish,  and  think 
too  much  of  my  own  small  tastes  and  too  little  of  what 
affects  others.  But  I am  not  stupid.  I am  not  unfeeling.  I 
can  see  what  is  better.” 

“ But  I have  not  done  you  injustice  since  I knew  more  of 
you,”  said  Felix,  gently. 

“ Yes,  you  have,”  said  Esther,  turning  and  smiling  at  him 
through  her  tears.  “ You  talk  to  me  like  an  angry  peda- 
gogue. Were  you  always  wise  ? Remember  the  time  when 
you  were  foolish  or  naughty,” 


THE  RADICAL. 


233 


“ That  is  not  far  off,”  said  Felix,  curtly,  taking  away  his. 
hand,  and  clasping  it  with  the  other  at  the  back  of  his  head. 
The  talk,  which  seemed  to  be  introducing  a mutual  under- 
standing, such  as  had  not  existed  before,  seemed  to  have 
undergone  some  check. 

“ Shall  we  get  up  and  walk  back  now  ? ” said  Esther,  after 
a few  moments. 

“ No,”  said  Felix,  entreatingly.  “ Don’t  move  yet.  I 
dare  say  we  shall  never  walk  together  or  sit  here  again.” 

“ Why  not  ? ” 

“ Because  I am  a man  who  am  warned  by  visions.  Those 
old  stories  of  visions  and  dreams  guiding  men  have  their 
truth  ; we  are  saved  by  making  the  future  present  to  our- 
selves.” 

“ I wish  I could  get  visions,  then,”  said  Esther,  smiling  at 
him,*  with  an  effort  of  playfulness,  in  resistance  to  something 
vaguely  mournful  within  her. 

“ That  is  what  I want,”  said  Felix,  looking  at  her  very 
earnestly.  “ Don’t  turn  your  head.  Do  look  at  me,  and 
then  I shall  know  if  I may  go  on  speaking.  I do  believe  in 
you  ; but  I want  you  to  have  such  a vision  of  the  future 
that  you  may  never  lose  your  best  self.  Some  charm  or  other 
may  be  flung  about  you- — some  of  your  attar-of-rose  fascina- 
tions—and  nothing  but  a good  strong  terrible  vision  will 
save  you.  And  if  it  did  save  you,  you  might  be  that  woman 
I was  thinking  of  a little  while  ago  when  I looked  at  your 
face  : the  woman  whose  beauty  makes  a great  task  easier  to 
men  instead  of  turning  them  away  from  it.  I am  not  likely 
to  see  such  hoe  issues  ; but  they  may  come  where  a woman’s 
spirit  is  finely  touched.  I should  like  to  be  sure  they  would 
come^to  you.” 

“ Why  are  you  not  likely  to  know  what  becomes  of  me  ?” 
said  Esther,  turning  away  her  eyes  in  spite  of  his  command. 
“Why  should  you  not  always  be  my  father’s  friend  and  mine?” 

“ Oh,  I shall  go  away  as  soon  as  I can  to  some  large 
town,”  said  Felix,  in  his  more  usual  tone — “some  ugly, 
wicked,  miserable  place.  I want  to  be  a demagogue  of  a 
new  sort  ; an  honest  one,  if  possible,  who  will  tell  the  people 
they  are  blind  and  foolish,  and  neither  flatter  them  nor  fat- 
ten on  them.  I have  my  heritage — an  order  I belong  to.  I 
have  the  blood  of  a line  of  handicraftsmen  in  my  veins,  and 
I want  to  stand  up  for  the  lot  of  the  handicraftsman  as  a 
good  lot,  in  which  a man  may  be  better  trained  to  all  the 
best  functions  of  his  nature  than  if  he  belonged  to  the  grim- 


234 


FELIX  HOLT, 


acing  set  who  have  visiting-cards,  and  are  proud  to  be 
thought  richer  than  their  neighbors.” 

“ Would  nothing  ever  make  it  seem  right  to  you  to  change 
your  mind  ? ” said  Esther  (she  had  rapidly  woven  some  ✓ 
possibilities  out  of  the  new  uncertainties  in  her  own  lot, 
though  she  would  not  for  the  world  have  had  Felix  know  of 
her  weaving).  “ Suppose,  by  some  means  or  other,  a fortune 
might  come  to  you  honorably — by  marriage,  or  in  any  other 
unexpected  way — would  you  see  no  change  in  your  course?” 

“ No,”  said  Felix,  peremptorily  ; “ I will  never  be  rich. 

I don’t  count  that  as  any  peculiar  virtue.  Some  men  do 
well  to  accept  riches,  but  that  is  not  my  inward  vocation  : 

I have  no  fellow-feeling  with  the  rich  as  a class  ; the  habits 
of  their  lives  are  odious  to  me.  Thousands  of  men  have 
wedded  poverty  because  they  expect  to  go  to  heaven  for  it  ; 

I don’t  expect  to  go  to  heaven  for  it,  but  I wed  it  because  it 
enables  me  to  do  what  I most  want  to  do  on  earth.  What- 
ever the  hopes  for  the  world  may  be — whether  great  or 
small — I am  a man  of  this  generation  ; I will  try  to  make 
life  less  bitter  for  a few  within  my  reach.  It  is  held  reason- 
able enough  to  toil  for  the  fortunes  of  a family,  though  it 
may  turn  to  imbecility  in  the  third  generation.  I choose  a 
family  with  more  chances  in  it.” 

Esther  looked  before  her  dreamily  till  she  said,  “ That 
seems  a hard  lot ; yet  it  is  a great  one.”  She  rose  to  walk  back. 

“ Then  you  don’t  think  I’m  a fool,”  said  Felix,  loudly, 
starting  to  his  feet,  and  then  stooping  to  gather  up  his  cap 
and  stick. 

“Of  course  you  suspected  me  of  that  stupidity.” 

“Well — women,  unless  they  are  Saint  Theresas  or  Eliza- 
beth Frys,  generally  think  this  sort  of  thing  madness,  unless 
when  they  read  of  it  in  the  Bible.” 

“ A woman  can  hardly  ever  choose  in  that  way ; she  is  de- 
pendent on  what  happens  to  her.  She  must  take  meaner 
things,  because  only  meaner  things  are  within  her  reach.” 

“ Why,  can  you  imagine  yourself  choosing  hardship  as  the 
better  lot?”  said  Felix,  looking  at  her  with  a sudden  question 
in  his  eyes. 

“Yes,  I can,”  she  said,  flushing  over  neck  and  brow. 

Their  words  were  charged  with  a meaning  dependent  en 
tirely  on  the  secret  consciousness  of  each.  Nothing  had  been 
said  which  was  necessarily  personal.  They  walked  a few 
yards  along  the  road  by  which  they  had  come,  without  further 
speech,  till  Felix  said  gently,  “Take  my  arm,”  She  took  it. 


THE  RADICAL. 


235 


and  they  walked  home  so,  entirely  without  conversation. 
Felix  was  struggling  as  a firm  man  struggles  with  a tempta- 
tion, seeing  beyond  it  and  disbelieving  its  lying  promise. 
Esther  was  struggling  as  a woman  struggles  with  the,  yearn- 
ing for  some  expression  of  love,  and  with  vexation  under  that 
subjection  to  a yearning  which  is  not  likely  to  be  satisfied. 
Each  was  conscious  of  a silence  which  each  was  unable  to 
break,  till  they  entered  Malthouse  Lane,  and  were  within  a 
few  yards  of  the  minister's  door. 

“ It  is  getting  dusk,’'  Felix  then  said;  “will  Mr.  Lyon  be 
anxious  about  you?” 

“ No,  I think  not.  Lyddy  would  tell  him  that  I went  out 
with  you,  and  that  you  carried  a large  stick,”  said  Esther, 
with  a light  laugh. 

Felix  went  in  with  Esther  to  take  tea,  but  the  conversation 
was  entirely  between  him  and  Mr.  Lyon  about  the  tricks  of 
canvassing,  the  foolish  personality  of  the  placards,  and  the 
probabilities  of  Transome’s  return,  as  to  which  Felix  de- 
clared himself  to  have  become  indifferent.  This  scepticism 
made  the  minister  uneasy  : he  had  great  belief  in  the  old 
political  watchwords,  had  preached  that  universal  suffrage 
and  no  ballot  were  agreeable  to  the  will  of  God,  and  liked 
to  believe  that  a visible  “ instrument”  was  forthcoming  in  the 
Radical  candidate  who  had  pronounced  emphatically  against 
Whig  finality.  Felix,  being  in  a perverse  mood,  contended 
that  universal  suffrage  would  be  equally  agreeable  to  the  devil; 
that  he  would  change  his  politics  a little,  have  a larger  traffic, 
and  see  himself  more  fully  represented  in  Parliament. 

“ Nay,  my  friend,”  said  the  minister,  “ you  are  again 
sporting  with  paradox ;.  for  you  will  not  deny  that  you  glory 
in  the  name  of  Radical,  or  Root-and-branch  man,  as  they  said 
in  the  great  times  when  Nonconformity  was  in  its  giant  youth.” 

“ A Radical — yes  ; but  I want  to  go  to  some  roots  a good 
deal  lower  down  than  the  franchise.” 

“ Truly  there  is  a work  within  which  cannot  be  dispensed 
with  ; but  it  is  our  preliminary  work  to  free  men  from  the 
stifled  life  of  political  nullity,  and  bring  them  into  what 
Milton  calls  ‘ the  liberal  air,’  wherein  alone  can  be  wrought 
the  final  triumphs  of  the  Spirit.” 

“ With  all  my  heart.  But  while  Caliban  is  Caliban,  though 
you  multiply  him  by  a million,  he’ll  worship  every  Trinculo 
that  carries  a bottle.  I forget,  though — you  don’t  read 
Shakespeare,  Mr.  Lyon.” 

“ I am  bound  to  confess  that  I have  so  far  looked  into  a 


236 


FELIX  HOLT, 


volume  of  Esther’s  as  to  conceive  your  meaning ; but  the 
fantasies  therein  were  so  little  to  be  reconciled  with  a steady 
contemplation  of  that  divine  economy  which  is  hidden  from 
sense  and  revealed  to  faith,  that  I forbore  the  reading,  as 
likely  to  perturb  my  ministrations.” 

Esther  sat  by  in  unusual  silence.  The  conviction  that 
Felix  willed  her  exclusion  from  his  life  was  making  it  plain  that 
something  more  than  friendship  between  them  was  not  so 
thoroughly  out  of  the  question  as  she  had  always  inwardly 
asserted.  In  her  pain  that  his  choice  lay  aloof  from  her, 
she  was  compelled  frankly  to  admit  to  herself  the  longing 
that  it  had  been  otherwise,  and  that  he  had  entreated  her 
to  share  his  difficult  life.  He  was  like  no  one  else  to  her  : 
he  had  seemed  to  bring  at  once  a law,  and  the  love  that  gave 
strength  to  obey  the  law.  Yet  the  next  moment,  stung  by 
his  independence  of  her,  she  denied  that  she  loved  him  ; 
she  had  only  longed  for  a moral  support  under  the  negations 
of  her  life.  If  she  were  not  to  have  that  support,  all  effort 
seemed  useless. 

Esther  had  been  so  long  used  to  hear  the  formulas  of  her 
father’s  belief  without  feeling  or  understanding  them,  that 
they  had  lost  all  power  to  touch  her.  The  first  religious  ex- 
perience of  her  life — the  first  self-questioning,  the  first  volun- 
tary subjection,  the  first  longing  to  acquire  the  strength  of 
greater  motives  and  obey  the  more  strenuous  rule — had  come 
to  her  through  Felix  Holt.  No  wonder  that  she  felt  as  if 
the  loss  of  him  were  inevitable  backsliding. 

But  was  it  certain  that  she  should  lose  him  ? She  did  not 
believe  that  he  was  really  indifferent  to  her. 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Titus.  But  what  says  Jupiter,  I ask  thee? 

Clown.  Alas,  sir,  I know  not  Jupiter  : 

I never  drank  with  him  in  all  my  life. 

— Titus  A ndronicus. 

The  multiplication  of  uncomplimentary  placards  noticed 
by  Mr.  Lyon  and  Felix  Holt  was  one  of  several  signs  that 
the  days  of  nomination  and  election  were  approaching. 
The  presence  of  the  Revising  Barrister  in  Treby  was  not 
only  an  opportunity  for  all  persons  not  otherwise  busy  to 
show  their  zeal  for  the  purification  of  the  voting-lists,  but 
also  to  reconcile  private  ease  and  public  duty  by  standing 
about  the  streets  and  lounging  at  doors.' 

It  was  no  light  business  for  Trebians  to  form  an  opinion  ; 
the  mere  fact  of  a public  functionary  with  an  unfamiliar 


THE  RADICAL. 


237 


title  was  enough  to  give  them  pause,  as  a premise  that  was 
not  to  be  quickly  started  from.  To  Mr.  Pink,  the  saddler, 
for  example,  until  some  distinct  injury  or  benefit  had  accrued 
to  him,  the  existence  of  the  Revising  Barrister  was  like  the 
existence  of  the  young  giraffe  which  Wombwell  had  lately 
brought  into  those  parts — it  was  to  be  contemplated,  and 
not  criticised.  Mr.  Pink  professed  a deep-dyed  Toryism  ; 
but  he  regarded  all  fault-finding  as  Radical  and  somewhat 
impious, as  disturbing  to  trade,  and  likely  to  offend  the  gentry, 
or  the  servants  through  whom  their  harness  was  ordered:  there 
was  a Nemesis  in  things  which  made  objection  unsafe,  and 
even  the  Reform  Bill  was  a sort  of  electric  eel  which  a thriving 
tradesman  had  better  leave  alone.  It  was  only  the  “Papists” 
who  lived  far  enough  off  to  be  spoken  of  uncivilly. 

But  Mr.  Pink  was  fond  of  news,  which  he  collected  and 
retailed  with  perfect  impartiality,  noting  facts  and  rejecting 
comments.  Hence  he  was  well  pleased  to  have  his  shop  so 
constant  a place  of  resort  for  loungers,  that  to  many  Trebians 
there  was  a strong  association  between  the  pleasures  of  gos- 
sip and  the  smell  of  leather.  He  had  the  satisfaction  of 
chalking  and  cutting,  and  of  keeping  his  journeymen  close 
at  work,  at  the  very  time  that  he  learned  from  his  visitors 
who  were  those  who.se  votes  had  been  called  in  question  be- 
fore His  Honor,  how  Lawyer  Jermyn  had  been  too  much  for 
Lawyer  Labron  about  Todd’s  cottages,  and  how,  in  the 
opinion  of  some  townsmen,  this  looking  into  the  value  of 
people’s  property,  and  swearing  it  down  below  a certain  sum, 
was  a nasty  inquisitorial  kind  of  thing  ; while  others  observed 
that  being  nice  to  a few  pounds  was  all  nonsense — they 
should  put  the  figure  high  enough,  and  then  never  mind  if  a 
voter’s  qualification  was  thereabouts.  But,  said  Mr.  Sims,  the 
auctioneer,  everything  was  done  for  the  sake  of  the  lawyers. 
Mr.  Pink  suggested  impartially  that  lawyers  must  live  ; but 
Mr.  Sims,  having  a ready  auctioneering  wit,  did  not  see  that 
so  many  of  them  need  live,  or  that  babies  were  born  lawyers. 
Mr.  Pink  felt  that  this  speculation  was  complicated  by  the 
ordering  of  side-saddles  for  lawyers’  daughters,  and,  return- 
ing to  the  firm  ground  of  fact,  stated  that  it  was  getting  dusk. 

The  dusk  seemed  deepened  the  next  moment  by  a tall 
figure  obstructing  the  doorway,  at  sight  of  whom  Mr.  Pink 
rubbed  his  hands  and  smiled  and  bowed  more  than  once, 
with  evident  solicitude  to  show  honor  where  honor  was  due, 
while  he  said : 

“ Mr.  Christian,  sir,  how  do  you  do,  sir  ?” 


238  FELIX  HOLT, 

Christian  answered  with  the  condescending  familiarity  of 
a superior.  “ Very  badly,  I can  tell  you,  with  these  con- 
founded braces  that  you  were  to  make  such  a fine  job  of. 
See,  old  fellow,  they’ve  burst  out  again.” 

“ Very  sorry,  sir.  Can  you  leave  them  with  me  ? ” 

“ Oh,  yes,  I’ll  leave  them.  What’s  the  news,  eh?”  said 
Christian,  half  seating  himself  on  a high  stool,  and  beating 
his  boot  with  a hand-whip. 

“Well,  sir,  we  look  to  you  to  tell  us  that,”  said  Mr.  Pink, 
with  a knowing  smile.  “You’re  at  headquarters — eh,  sir? 
That  was  what  I said  to  Mr.  Scales  the  other  day.  He  came 
up  for  some  straps,  Mr.  Scales  did,  and  he  asked  that  ques- 
tion in  pretty  near  the  same  terms  that  you’ve  done,  sir,  and 
I answered  him,  as  I may  say,  ditto.  Not  meaning  any  dis- 
respect to  you,  sir,  but  a way  of  speaking.” 

“Come,  that’s  gammon,  Pink,”  said  Christian.  “You 
know  everything.  You  can  tell  me  if  you  will,  who  is  the 
fellow  employed  to  paste  up  Transome’s  handbills  ? ” 

“ What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Sims  ? ” said  Pink,  looking  at  the 
auctioneer. 

“ Why,  you  know  and  I know  well  enough.  It’s  Tommy 
Trounsem — an  old,  crippling,  half-mad  fellow.  Most  people 
know  Tommy.  I’ve  employed  him  myself  for  charity. w 
“ Where  shall  I find  him  ? ” said  Christian. 

“ At  the  Cross-Keys,  in  Pollard’s  End,  most  likely,”  said 
Mr.  Sims.  “ I don’t  know  where  he  puts  himself  when  he 
isn’t  at  the  public.” 

“ He  was  a stoutish  fellow  fifteen  year  ago,  when  he  car- 
ried pots,”  said  Mr.  Pink. 

“ Ay,  and  has  snared  many  a hare  in  his  time,”  said  Mr. 
Sims.  “ But  he  was  always  a little  cracked.  Lord  bless  you! 
he  used  to  swear  he  had  a right  to  the  Transome  estate.” 

“ Why,  what  put  that  notion  into  his  head  ? ” said  Chris- 
tian, who  had  learned  more  than  he  expected. 

“The  lawing,  sir — nothing  but  the  lawing  about  the  estate. 
There  was  a deal  of  it  twenty  year  ago,”  said  Mr.  Pink.  “Tom- 
my happened  to  turn  up  hereabout  at  that  time  ; a big,  lung- 
eous  fellow,  who  would  speak  disrespectfully  of  hanybody.” 
“ Oh,  he  meant  no  harm,”  said  Mr.  Sims.  “ He  was  fond 
of  a drop  to  drink,  and  not  quite  right  in  the  upper  story, 
and  he  could  hear  no  difference  between  Trounsem  and 
Transome.  It’s  an  odd  way  of  speaking  they  have  in  that 
part  where  he  was  born — a little  north’ard.  You’ll  hear  it 
in  his  tongue  now,  if  you  talk  to  him.” 


THE  RADICAL. 


239 

“ At  the  Cross-Keys  I shall  find  him,  eh  ? ” said  Chris- 
tian, getting  off  his  stool.  “ Good-day,  Pink — good-day.” 

Christian  went  straight  from  the  saddler’s  to  Quorlen’s,  the 
Tory  printer’s,  with  whom  he  had  contrived  apolitical  spree. 
Quorlen  was  a new  man  in  Treby,  who  had  so  reduced  the 
trade  of  Dow,  the  old  hereditary  printer,  that  Dow  had 
lapsed  to  Whiggery  and  Radicalism  and  opinions  in  general, 
so  far  as  they  were  contented  to  express  themselves  in  a 
small  stock  of  types.  Quorlen  had  brought  his  Dufheld  wit 
with  him,  and  insisted  that  religion  and  joking  were  the 
handmaids  of  politics  ; on  which  principle  he  and  Christian 
undertook  the  joking,  and  left  the  religion  to  the  rector. 
The  joke  at  present  in  question  was  a practical  one.  Chris- 
tian, turning  into  the  shop,  merely  said,  ‘‘I’ve  found  him 
out — give  me  the  placards  ” ; and,  tucking  a thickish  flat 
bundle,  wrapped  in  a black  glazed  cotton  bag,  under  his  arm, 
walked  out  into  the  dusk  again. 

“ Suppose  now,”  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  strode  along — 
“ suppose  there  should  be  some  secret  to  be  got  out  of  this 
old  scamp,  or  some  notion  that’s  as  good  as  a secret  to  those 
who  know  how  to  use  it  ? That  would  be  virtue  rewarded. 
But  I’m  afraid  the  old  tosspot  is  not  likely  to  be  good  for 
much.  There’s  truth  in  wine,  and  there  may  be  some  in 
gin  and  muddy  beer  ; but  whether  it’s  truth  worth  my  know- 
ing, is  another  question.  I’ve  got  plenty  of  truth,  but  never 
any  that  was  worth  a sixpence  to  me.” 

The  Cross-Keys  was  a very  old-fashioned  “ public  ” ; its 
bar  was  a big  rambling  kitchen,  with  an  undulating  brick 
floor;  the  small-paned  windows  threw  an  interesting  obscur- 
ity over  the  far-off  dresser,  garnished  with  pewter  and  tin, 
and  with  large  dishes  that  seemed  to  speak  of  better  times ; 
the  two  settles  were  half  pushed  under  the  wide-mouthed 
chimney  ; and  the  grate  with  its  brick  hobs,  massive  iron 
crane,  and  various  pothooks,  suggested  a generous  plenty 
possibly  existent  in  all  moods  and  tenses  except  the  indica- 
tive present.  One  way  of  getting  an  idea  of  our  fellow- 
countrymen’s  miseries  is  to  go  and  look  at  their  pleasures. 
The  Cross-Keys  had  a fungous-featured  landlord  and  a yel- 
low sickly  landlady,  with  a large  white  kerchief  bound  round 
her  cap,  as  if  her  head  had  recently  required  surgery  ; it 
had  doctored  ale,  an  odor  of  bad  tobacco,  and  remarkably 
strong  cheese.  It  was  not  what  Astraea,  when  come  back, 
might  be  expected  to  approve  as  the  scene  of  ecstatic  enjoy- 
ment for  the  beings  whose  special  prerogative  it  is  to  lift 


240 


FELIX  HOLT, 


their  sublime  faces  toward  heaven.  Still,  there  was  ample 
space  on  the  hearth — accommodation  for  narrative  bagmen 
or  boxmen — room  for  a man  to  stretch  his  legs  ; his  brain 
was  not  pressed  upon  by  a white  wall  within  a yard  pf  him, 
and  the  light  did  not  stare  in  mercilessly  on  bare  ugliness, 
turning  the  fire  to  ashes.  Compared  with  some  beerhouses 
of  this  more  advanced  period,  the  Cross-Keys  of  that  day 
presented  a high  standard  of  pleasure. 

But  though  this  venerable  “ public  ” had  not  failed  to 
share  in  the  recent  political  excitement  of  drinking,  the 
pleasures  it  offered  were  not  at  this  hour  of  the  evening 
sought  by  a numerous  company.  There  were  only  three  or 
four  pipes  being  smoked  by  the  firelight,  but  it  was  enough 
for  Christian  when  he  found  that  one  of  these  was  being 
smoked  by  the  bill-sticker,  whose  large  flat  basket,  stuffed 
with  placards,  leaned  near  him  against  the  settle.  So 
splendid  an  apparition  as  Christian  was  not  a little  startling 
at  the  Cross* Keys,  and  was  gazed  at  in  expectant  silence  ; 
but  he  was  a stranger  in  Pollard’s  End,  and  was  taken  for  the 
highest  style  of  traveller  when  he  declared  that  he  was  deuc- 
edly  thirsty,  ordered  sixpenny  worth  of  gin  and  a large  jug 
of  water,  and,  putting  a few  drops  of  the  spirit  into  his  own 
glass,  invited  Tommy  Trounsem,  who  sat  next  him,  to  help 
himself.  Tommy  was  not  slower  than  a shaking  hand 
obliged  him  to  be  in  accepting  this  invitation.  He  was  a 
tall,  broad-shouldered  old  fellow,  who  had  once  been  good- 
looking  ; but  his  cheeks  and  chest  were  both  hollow  now, 
and  his  limbs  were  shrunken. 

“ You’ve  got  some  bills  there,  master,  eh  ? ” said  Christian, 
pointing  to  the  basket.  “ Is  there  an  auction  coming  on  ? ” 

“ Auction  ? no,”  said  Tommy,  with  a gruff  hoarseness, 
which  was  the  remnant  of  a jovial  bass,  and  with  an  accent 
which  differed  from  the  Trebian  fitfully,  as  an  early  habit  is 
wont  to  reassert  itself.  “I’ve  nought  to  do  wi’  auctions;  I’m 
a pol’tical  charicter.  It’s  me  am  getting  Trounsem  into 
Parl’ment.” 

“ Trounsem,  said  he,”  the  landlord  observed,  taking  out 
his  pipe  with  a low  laugh.  “ It’s  Transome,  sir.  Maybe 
you  don’t  belong  to  thh**  ~f  It’s  the  candidate  ’ull  do 
most  for  the  workingm  ^ id’s  proved  it  too,  in  the  way 
o’  being  open-handed  ana  wishing  ’em  to  enjoy  themselves. 
If  I'd  twenty  votes,  I’d  give  one  for  Transome,  and  I 
don’t  care  who  hears  me.” 

The  landlord  peered  out  from  his  fungous  cluster  of 


THE  RADICAL. 


24 1 

features  with  a beery  confidence  that  the  high  figure  of 
twenty  had  somehow  raised  the  hypothetic  value  of  his  vote. 

“ Spilkins,  now,”  said  Tommy,  waving  his  hand  to  the 
landlord,  “ you  let  one  gentelman  speak  to  another,  will 
you  ? This  genelman  wants  to  know  about  my  bills.  Does 
he,  or  doesn’t  he  ? ” 

“ What  then?  I spoke  according/'  said  the  landlord, 
mildly  holding  his  own. 

“ You’re  all  very  well,  Spilkins,”  returned  Tommy,  “ but 
y’aren’t  me.  I know  what  the  bills  are.  It’s  public  business. 
I’m  none  o’  your  common  bill-stickers,  master;  I’ve  left  off 
sticking  up  ten  guineas  reward  for  a sheep-stealer,  or  low 
stuff  like  that.  These  are  Trounsem’s  bills;  and  I’m  the 
rightful  family,  and  so  I give  him  a lift.  A Trounsem  I 
am,  and  a Trounsem  Til  be  buried  ; and  if  Old  Nick 
tries  to  lay  hold  on  me  for  poaching,  I’ll  say,  ‘ You  be 
hanged  for  a lawyer,  Old  Nick;  every  hare  and  pheasant  on 
the  Trounsem’s  landfis  mine’  ; and  what  rises  the  family, 
rises  old  Tommy;  and  we’re  going  to  get  into  Parl’ment 
— that’s  the  long  and  the  short  on’t,  master.  And  I’m  the 
head  o’  the  family,  and  I stick  the  bills.  There’s  John- 
sons, and  Thomsons,  and  Jacksons,  and  Billsons;  but  I’m 
a Trounsem,  I am.  What  do  you  say  to  that,  master  ? ” 

This  appeal,  accompanied  by  a blow  on  the  table,  while 
the  landlord  winked  at  the  company,  was  addressed  to 
Christian,  who  answered,  with  severe  gravity — 

“ I say  there  isn’t  any  work  more  honorable  than  bill- 
sticking.” 

“No,  no,”  said  Tommy,  wagging  his  head  from  side  to 
side.  “ I thought  you’d  come  in  to  that.  I thought  you’d 
know  better  than  say  contrairy.  But  I’ll  shake  hands  wi’ 
you;  I don’t  want  to  knock  any  man’s  head  off.  I’m  a good 
chap— a sound  crock — an  old  family  kep’  out  o’  my  rights. 
I shall  go  to  heaven,  for  all  Old  Nick.” 

As  these  celestial  prospects  might  imply  that  a little  extra 
gin  was  beginning  to  tell  on  the  bill-sticker,  Christian 
wanted  to  lose  no  time  in  arresting  his  attention.  He  laid 
his  hand  on  Tommy’s  and  spoke  emphatically. 

“But  I’ll  tell  you  what  yon  LiH-stickers  are  not  up  to. 
You  should  be  on  tlic  look-du^^  <n  Debarry’s  side  have 
stuck  up  fresh  bills,  and  go  aj/^^ste  yours  over  them.  I 
know  where  there’s  a Joi„.pf"'Debarry’s  bills  now.  Come 
along  with  me  and  I’ll  show  you.  We’ll  paste  them  over, 
and  then  we’ll  come  back  and  treat  the'  company.” 


2\2 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ Hooray  ! ” said  Tommy.  u Let’s  be  off  then.” 

He  was  one  of  the  thoroughly  inured,  originally  hale 
drunkards,  and  did  not  easily  lose  his  head  or  legs  or  the 
ordinary  amount  of  method  in  his  talk.  Strangers  often 
supposed  that  Tommy  was  tipsy  when  he  had  only  taken 
what  he  called  “ one  blessed  pint,”  chiefly  from  that  glorious 
contentment  with  himself  and  his  adverse  fortunes  which  is 
not  usually  characteristic  of  the  sober  Briton.  He  knocked 
the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  seized  his  paste-vessel  and  his 
basket,  and  prepared  to  start  with  a satisfactory  promise  that 
he  could  know  what  he  was  about. 

The  landlord  and  some  others  had  confidently  concluded 
that  they  understood  all  about  Christian  now.  He  was  a 
Transome’s  man,  come  to  see  after  the  bill-sticking  in  Tran- 
some’s  interest.  The  landlord,  telling  his  yellow  wife  snap- 
pishly to  open  the  door  for  the  gentleman,  hoped  soon  to 
see  him  again. 

“ This  is  a Transome’s  house,  sir,”  he  observed,  “ in 
respect  of  entertaining  customers  of  that  color.  I do  my 
duty  as  a publican,  which,  if  I know  it,  is  to  turn  back  no 
genelman’s  money.  I say,  give  every  genelman  a chance,  and 
the  more  the  merrier,  in  Parl’ment  and  out  of  it.  And  if  any- 
body says  they  want  but  two  Parl’ment  men,  I say  it  ’ud  be  bet- 
ter for  trade  if  there  was  six  of  ’em,  and  voters  according.” 

“ Ay,  ay,”  said  Christian  ; “ you’re  a sensible  man,  land- 
lord. You  don’t  mean  to  vote  for  Debarry,  then,  eh  ? ” 
“Not  nohow,”  said  the  landlord,  thinking  that  where 
negatives  were  good  the  more  you  had  of  them  the  better. 

As  soon  as  the  door  had  closed  behind  Christian  and  his 
new  companion  Tommy  said — 

“ Now,  master,  if  you’re  to  be  my  lantern,  don’t  you  be  a 
Jacky  Lantern,  which  I take  to  mean  one  as  leads  you  the 
wrong  way.  For  I’ll  tell  you  what — if  you’ve  had  the  luck 
to  fall  in  wi’  Tommy  Trounsem,  don’t  you  let  him  drop.” 

“ No,  no — to  be  sure  not,”  said  Christian.  “ Come  along 
here.  We’ll  go  to  the  Back  Brewery  wall  first. ^ 

“ No,  no  ; don’t  you  let  me  drop.  Give  me  a shilling 
any  day  you  like,  and  I’ll  tell  you  more  nor  you’ll  hear  from 
Spilkins  in  a week.  There  isna  many  men  like  me.  I car- 
ried pots  for  fifteen  year  ofjfefficl  ^.v—^hat  do  you  think  o’ 
that  now,  for  a man  as  mi^ft  ha’  lived  up  there  at  Troun- 
sem Park,  and  snared  his  own  game  ? Which  I’d  ha’  done,” 
said  Tommy,  wagging  his  head  at  Christian  in  the  dimness 
undisturbed  by  gas.  “ None  o’  your  shooting  for  me — it’s 


THE  RADICAL. 


243 


two  to  one  you’ll  miss.  Snaring’s  more  fishing-like.  You 
bait  your  hook,  and  if  it  isna  the  fishes’  good-will  to  come, 
that’s  nothing  again’  the  sporting  genelman.  And  that’s 
what  I say  by  snaring.” 

“ But  if  you’d  a right  to  the  Transome  estate,  how  was  it 
you  were  kept  out  of  it,  old  boy  ? It  was  some  foul  shame 
or  other,  eh  ? ” 

“ It’s  the  law — that’s  what  it  is.  You’re  a good  sort  of 
chap  ; I don’t  mind  telling  you.  There’s  folks  born  to 
property,  and  there’s  folks  catch  hold  on  it  ; and  the  law’s 
made  for  them  to  catch  hold.  I’m  pretty  deep  ; I see  a good 
deal  further  than  Spilkins.  There  was  Ned  Patch,  the 
peddler,  used  to  say  to  me,  ‘You  canna  read,  Tommy,’  says 
he.  ‘ No  ; thank  you,’  says  I ; ‘I’m  not  going  to  crack  my 
headpiece  to  make  myself  as  big  a fool  as  you.’  I was  fond 
o’  Ned.  Many’s  the  pot  we’ve  had  together.” 

“I  see  well  enough  you’re  deep,  Tommy.  How  came  you 
to  know  you  were  born  to  property  ? ” 

“ It  was  the  regester — the  parish  regester,”  said  Tommy, 
with  his  knowing  wag  of  the  head,  “ that  shows  as  yo*u  was 
born.  I allays  felt  it  inside  me  as  I was  somebody,  and 
I could  see  other  chaps  thought  it  on  me  too  ; and  so  one 
day  at  Littleshaw,  where  I kep’  ferrets  and  a little  bit  of  a 
public,  there  come  a fine  man  looking  after  me,  and  walk- 
ing me  up  and  down  wi’  questions.  And  I made  out  from 
the  clerk  as  he’d  been  at  the  regester  ; and  I gave  the  clerk 
a pot  or  two,  and  he  got  it  off  our  parson  as  the  name  o’ 
Trounsem  was  a great  name  hereabout.  And  I waits  a bit 
for  my  fine  man  to  come  again.  Thinks  I,  if  there’s  prop- 
erty wants  a right  owner,  I shall  be  called  for  ; for  I 
didn’t  know  the  law  then.  And  I waked  and  waited,  till  I 
see’d  no  fun  i’  waiting.  So  I parted  with  my  public  and 
my  ferrets — for  she  was  dead  a’  ready,  my  wife  was,  and  I 
hadn’t  no  cumbrance.  And  off  I started  a pretty  long  walk  to 
this  country-side,  for  I could  walk  fora  wager  in  them  days.” 

“ Ah  ! well,  here  we  are  at  the  Back  Brewery  wall.  Put 
down  your  paste  and  your  basket  now,  old  boy,  and  I’ll 
help  you.  You  paste,  and  I’ll  give  you  the  bills,  and  then 
you  can  go  on  talking.” 

Tommy  obeyed  automatically,  for  he  was  now  carried 
away  by  the  rare  opportunity  of  talking  to  a new  listener, 
and  was  only  eager  to  go  on  with  his  story.  As  soon  as 
his  back  was  turned,  and  he  was  stooping  over  his  paste- 
not,  Christian,  with  quick  adroitness,  exchanged  the  placards 


244 


FELIX  HOLT, 


in  his  own  bag  fort  those  in  Tommy’s  basket.  Christian’s 
placards  had  not  been  printed  at  Treby,  but  were  a new  lot 
which  had  been  sent  from  Duffield  that  very  day — “ highly 
spiced,”  Quorlen  had  said,  “ coming  from  a pen  that  was  up 
to  that  sort  of  thing.”  Christian  had  read  the  first  of  the 
sheaf,  and  supposed  they  were  all  alike.  He  proceeded  to 
hand  one  to  Tommy  and  said — 

“ Here,  old  boy,  paste  this  over  the  other.  And  so,  when 
you  got  into  this  country-side,  what  did  you  do?” 

“ Why,  I put  up  at  a good  public  and  ordered  the  best, 
for  I’d  a bit  o’  money  in  my  pocket ; and  I axed  about,  and 
they  said  to  me,  if  it’s  Trounsem  business  you’re  after,  you 
go  to  Lawyer  Jermyn.  And  I went  ; and  says  I,  going  along, 
he’s  maybe  the  fine  man  as  walked  me  up  and  down*.  But 
no  such  thing.  I’ll  tell  you  what  Lawyer  Jermyn  was.  He 
stands  you  there,  and  holds  you  away  from  him  wi’  a pole 
three  yard  long.  He  stares  at  you,  and  says  nothing,  till 
you  feel  like  a Tomfool  ; and  then  he  threats  you  to  set  the 
justice  on  you  ; and  then  he’s  sorry  for  you,  and  hands  you 
money,  and  preaches  you  a sarmint,  and  tells  you  you’re  a 
poor  man,  and  he’ll  give  you  a bit  of  advice — and  you’d  bet- 
ter not  be  meddling  wi’  things  belonging  to  the  law,  else  you 
be  catched  up  in  a big  wheel  and  fly  to  bits.  And  I went 
of  a cold  sweat,  and  I wished  I might  never  come  i’  sight  o’ 
Lawyer  Jermyn  again.  But  he  says,  if  you  keep  i’  this  neigh- 
borhood, behave  yourself  well,  and  I’ll  perfect  you.  I were 
deep  enough,  but  it’s  no  use  being  deep,  ’cause  you  can 
never  know  the  law.  And  there’s  times  when  the  deepest 
fellow’s  most  frightened.” 

“ Yes,  yes.  There  ! Now  for  another  placard.  And  so 
that  was  all  ? ” 

“ All  ? ” said  Tommy,  turning  round  and  holding  the  paste- 
brush in  suspense.  “ Don’t  you  be  running  too  quick. 
Thinks  I,  ‘ I’ll  meddle  no  more.  I’ve  got  a bit  o’  money— 
I’ll  buy  a basket,  and  be  a pot-man.  It’s  a pleasant  life.  I 
shall  live  at  publics  and  see  the  world,  and  pick  ’quaintance, 
and  get  a chance  penny.’  But  when  I’d  turned  into  the  Red 
Lion,  and  got  myself  warm  again  wi’  a drop  o’  hot,  some- 
thing jumps  into  my  head.  Thinks  I,  Tommy,  you’ve  done 
finely  for  yourself  : you’re  a rat  as  has  broke  up  your  house 
to  take  a journey,  and  show  yourself  to  a ferret.  And  then 
it  jumps  into  my  head  : I’d  once  two  ferrets  as  turned  on 
one  another,  and  the  little  un  killed  the  big  un.  Says  I to 
the  landlady,  ‘ Missus,  could  you  tell  me  of  a lawyer,’  says  I, 


THE  RADICAL. 


2 45 


i not  very  big  or  fine,  but  a second-size — a big-potato,  like  ?' 

‘ That  I can,’  says  she  ; ‘ there’s  one  now  in  the  bar  parlor. 
‘Be  so  kind  as  bring  us  together,’  says  I.  And  she  cries  out 
— I think  I hear  her  now — ‘ Mr.  Johnson  ! ’ And  what  do 
you  think  ? ” 

At  this  crisis  in  Tommy’s  story  the  gray  clouds,  which 
had  been  gradually  thinning,  opened  sufficiently  to  let  down 
the  sudden  moonlight,  and  show  his  poor  battered  old  figure 
and  face  in  the  attitude  and  with  the  expression  of  a narra- 
tor sure  of  the  coming  effect  on  his  auditor  ; his  body  and 
neck  stretched  a little  on  one  side,  and  his  paste-brush  held 
out  with  an  alarming  intention  of  tapping  Christian’s  coat- 
sleeve  at  the  right  moment.  Christian  started  to  a safe  dis- 
tance, and  said — 

“ It’s  wonderful.  I can’t  tell  what  to  think.” 

“ Then  never  do  you  deny  Old  Nick,”  said  Tommy,  with 
solemnity.  “ I’ve  believed  in  him  more  ever  since.  Who 
was  Johnson?  Why,  Johnson  was  the  fine  man  as  had 
walked  me  up  and  down  with  questions.  And  I out  with  it 
to  him  then  and  there.  And' he  speaks  me  civil,  and  says, 
‘ Come  away  wi’  me,  my  good  fellow.’  And  he  told  me  a 
deal  o’  law.  And  he  says,  ‘ Whether  you’re  a Tommy  Troun- 
sem  or  no,  it’s  no  good  to  you,  but  only  to  them  as  have  got 
hold  o’  the  property.  If  you  was  a Tommy  Trounsem 
twenty  times  over,  it  ’ud  be  no  good,  for  the  law’s  bought 
you  out  ; and  your  life’s  no  good,  only  to  them  as  have 
catched  hold  o’  the  property.  The  more  you  live,  the  more 
they’ll  stick  in.  Not  as  they  want  you  now,’  says  he — ‘ you’re 
no  good  to  anybody, and  you  might  howl  like  a dog  foriver,  and 
the  law  ’ud  take  no  notice  on  you.’  Says  Johnson,  ‘I’m  doing  a 
kind  thing  by  you  to  tell  you.  For  that’s  the  law.’  And  if  you 
want  to  know  the  law,  master,  you  ask  Johnson.  I heard  ’em 
say  after,  as  he  was  an  understrapper  at  Jermyn’s.  I’ve  never 
forgot  it  from  that  day  to  this.  But  I saw  clear  enough,  as  if  the 
law  hadn’t  been  again’  me,  the  Trounsem  estate  ’udha’  been 
mine.  But  folks  are  fools  hereabouts,  and  I’ve  left  off  talking. 
The  more  you  tell  -’em  the  truth,  the  more  they’ll  niver 
believe  you.  And  I went  and  bought  my  basket  and  the 
pots,  and ” 

“ Come  then,  fire  away,”  said  Christian.  “ Here’s  another 
placard.” 

“ I’m  getting  a bit  dry,  master.” 

“Well,  then,  make  haste,  and  you’ll  have  something  to 
drink  all  the  sooner.” 


246 


FELIX  HOLT, 


Tommy  turned  to  his  work  again,  and  Christian,  continu- 
ing his  help,  said,  “ And  how  long  has  Mr.  Jermyn  been  em- 
ploying you  ? ” 

“ Oh,  no  particular  time — off  and  on  ; but  a week  or  two 
ago  he  sees  me  upo’  the  road,  and  speaks  to  me  uncommon 
civil,  and  tells  me  to  go  up  to  his  office  and  he'll  give  me 
employ.  And  I was  noways  unwilling  to  stick  the  bills  to 
get  the  family  into  Parl’ment.  For  there’s  no  man  can  help 
the  law.  And  the  family’s  the  family,  whether  you  carry 
pots  or  no.  Master,  I’m  uncommon  dry  ; my  head’s  a-turn- 
ing  round  ; it’s  talking  so  long  on  end.” 

The  unwonted  excitement  of  poor  Tommy’s  memory  was 
producing  a reaction. 

“Well,  Tommy,”  said  Christian,  who  had  just  made  a dis- 
covery among  the  placards  which  altered  the  bent  of  his 
thoughts,  “ you  may  go  back  to  the  Cross-Keys  now,  if  you 
like  ; here’s  a half-crown  for  you  to  spend  handsomely.  I 
can’t  go  back  there  myself  just  yet ; but  you  may  give  my 
respects  to  Spilkins,  and  mind  you  paste  the  rest  of  the  bills 
early  to-morrow  morning.” 

“Ay,  ay.  But  don’t  you  believe  too  much  i’  Spilkins,” 
said  Tommy,  pocketing  the  half-crown,  and  showing  his 
gratitude  by  giving  this  advice — “he’s  no  harm  much — but 
weak.  He  thinks  he’s  at  the  bottom  o’  things  because  he 
scores  you  up.  But  I bear  him  no  ill-will.  Tommy  Troun- 
sem’s  a good  chap  ; and  any  day  you  like  to  give  me  half-a- 
crown,  I’ll  tell  you  the  same  story  over  again.  Not  now  ; 
I’m  dry.  Come,  help  me  up  wi’  these  things ; you’re  a 
younger  chap  than  me.  Well,  I’ll  tell  Spilkins  you’ll  come 
again  another  day.” 

The  moonlight,  which  had  lit  up  poor  Tommy’s  oratorical 
attitude,  had  served  to  light  up  for  Christian  the  print  of  the 
placards.  He  had  expected  the  copies  to  be  various,  and 
had  turned  them  half  over  at  different  depths  of  the  sheaf 
before  drawing  out  those  he  offered  to  the  bill-sticker.  Sud- 
denly the  clearer  light  had  shown  him  on  one  of  them  a 
name  which  was  just  then  especially  interesting  to  him,  and 
all  the  more  when  occurring  in  a placard  intended  to  dis- 
suade the  electors  of  North  Loamshire  from  voting  for  the 
heir  of  the  Transomes.  He  hastily  turned  over  the  bills 
that  preceded  and  succeeded,  that  he  might  draw  out  and 
carry  away  all  of  this  pattern  ; for  it  might  turn  out  to  be 
wiser  for  him  not  to  contribute  to  the  publicity  of  handbills 
which  contained  allusions  to  Bycliff e versus  Transome. 


THE  RADICAL. 


247 


There  were  about  a dozen  of  them ; he  pressed  them 
together  and  thrust  them  into  his  pocket,  returning  all  the 
rest  to  Tommy’s  basket.  To  take  away  this  dozen  might 
not  be  to  prevent  similar  bills  from  being  posted  up  else- 
where, but  he  had  reason  to  believe  that  these  were  all  of 
the  same  kind  which  had  been  sent  to  Treby  from  Duffield. 

Christian’s  interest  in  his  practical  joke  had  died  out  like 
a morning  rushlight.  Apart  from  this  discovery  in  the 
placards,  old  Tommy’s  story  had  some  indications  in  it  that 
were  worth  pondering  over.  Where  was  that  well-informed 
Johnson  now?  Was  he  still  an  understrapper  of  JermynV 

With  this  matter  in  his  thoughts,  Christian  only  turned  in 
hastily  at  Quorlen’s,  threw  down  the  black  bag  which  con- 
tained the  captured  Radical  handbills,  said  he  had  done  the 
job,  and  hurried  back  to  the  Manor  that  he  might  study  his 
problem. 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

I doe  believe  that,  as  the  gall  has  severall  receptacles  in  several  creatures,  soe  there's 
scarce  any  creature  but  hath  that  emunctorye  somewhere. — Sir  Thomas  Browne. 

Fancy  what  a game  at  chess  would  be  if  all  the  chessmen 
had  passions  and  intellects,  more  or  less  small  and  cunning  : 
if  you  were  not  only  uncertain  about  your  adversary’s  men, 
but  a little  uncertain  about  your  own  ; if  your  knight  could 
shuffle  himself  on  to  a new  square  by  the  sly  ; if  your  bishop, 
in  disgust  at  your  castling,  could  wheedle  your  pawns  out 
of  their  places  ; and  if  your  pawns,  hating  you  because  they 
are  pawns,  could  make  away  from  their  appointed  posts  that 
you  might  get  checkmate  on  a sudden.  You  might  be  the 
longest-headed  of  deductive  reasoners,  and  yet  you  might  be 
beaten  by  your  own  pawns.  You  would  be  especially  likely  to 
be  beat,  if  you  depended  arrogantly  on  your  mathematical  im- 
agination, and  regarded  your  passionate  pieces  with  contempt. 

Yet  this  imaginary  chess  is  easy  compared  with  the  game 
a man  has  to  play  against  his  fellow-men  with  other  fellow- 
men  for  his  instruments.  He  thinks  himself  sagacious,  per- 
haps, because  he  trusts  no  bond  except  that  of  self-interest  : 
but  the  only  self-interest  he  can  safely  rely  on  is  what  seems 
to  be  such  to  the  mind  he  would  use  or  govern.  Can  he 
ever  be  sure  of  knowing  this? 

Matthew  Jermyn  was  under  no  misgivings  as  to  the  fealty 
of  Johnson.  He  had  “ been  the  making  of  Johnson”; 
and  this  seems  to  many  men  as  a reason  for  expecting 
devotion,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  they  themselves,  though 
very  fond  of  their  own  persons  and  lives,  are  not  at  all 


248 


FELIX  HOLT, 


devoted  to  the  Maker  they  believe  in.  Johnson  was  a most 
serviceable  subordinate.  Being  a man  who  aimed  at 
respectability,  a family  man,  who  had  a good  church-pew, 
subscribed  for  engravings  of  banquet  pictures  where  there 
were  portraits  of  political  celebrities,  and  wished  his  chil- 
dren to  be  more  unquestionably  genteel  than  their  father, 
he  presented  all  the  more  numerous  handles  of  worldly 
motive  by  which  a judicious  superior  might  get  a hold  on 
him.  But  this  useful  regard  to  respectability  had  its 
inconvenience  in  relation  to  such  a superior  : it  was  a mark 
of  some  vanity  and  some  pride,  which,  if  they  were  not 
touched  just  in  the  right  handling-place,  were  liable  to 
become  raw  and  sensitive.  Jermyn  was  aware  of  Johnson’s 
weaknesses,  and  thought  he  had  flattered  them  sufficiently. 
But  on  the  point  of  knowing  when  we  are  disagreeable,  our 
human  nature  is  fallible.  Our  lavender-water,  our  smiles, 
our  compliments,  and  other  polite  falsities,  are  constantly 
offensive,  when  in  the  very  nature  of  them  they  can  only  be 
meant  to  attract  admiration  and  regard.  Jermyn  had  often 
been  unconsciously  disagreeable  to  Johnson, over  and  above 
the  constant  offence  of  being  an  ostentatious  patron.  He  would 
never  let  Johnson  dine  with  his  wife  and  daughters;  he 
would  not  himself  dine  at  Johnson’s  house  when  he  was  in 
town.  He  often  did  what  was  equivalent  to  poohpoohing 
his  conversation  by  not  even  appearing  to  listen,  and  by 
suddenly  cutting  it  short  with  a query  on  a new  subject. 
Jermyn  was  able  and  politic  enough  to  have  commanded  a 
great  deal  of  success  in  his  life,  but  he  could  not  help  being 
handsome,  arrogant,  fond  of  being  heard,  indisposed  to  any 
kind  of  comradeship,  amorous  and  bland  toward  women, 
cold  and  self-contained  toward  men.  You  will  hear  very 
strong  denials  that  an  attorney’s  being  handsome  could 
enter  into  the  dislike  he  excited  ; but  conversation  consists 
a good  deal  in  the  denial  of  what  is  true.  From  the  British 
point  of  view  masculine  beauty  is  regarded  very  much  as  it 
is  in  the  drapery  business  : — as  good  solely  for  the  fancy 
department — for  young  noblemen,  artists,  poets,  and  the 
clergy.  Some  one  who,  like  Mr.  Lingon,  was  disposed  to 
revile  Jermyn  (perhaps  it  was  Sir  Maximus),  had  called 
him  “a  cursed,  sleek,  handsome,  long-winded,  overbearing 
sycophant  ” ; epithets  which  expressed,  rather  confusedly, 
the  mingled  character  of  the  dislike  he  excited.  And 
serviceable  John  Johnson,  himself  sleek,  and  mindful  about 
his  broadcloth  and  his  cambric  fronts,  had  what  he  con- 


THE  RADICAL. 


249 


sidered  “ spirit  ” enough  within  him  to  feel  that  dislike  of 
Jermyn  gradually  gathering  force  through  years  of  obligation 
and  subjection,  till  it  had  become  an  actuating  motive  dis- 
posed to  use  an  opportunity  ; if  it  did  not  watch  for  one. 

It  was  not  this  motive,  however,  but  rather  the  ordinary 
course  of  business,  which  accounted  for  Johnson’s  playing  a 
double  part  as  an  electioneering  agent.  What  men  do  in 
elections  is  not  to  be  classed  either  among  sins  or  marks  of 
grace  ; it  would  be  profane  to  include  business  in  religion,  and 
conscience  refers  to  failure,  not  to  success.  Still,  the  sense 
of  being  galled  by  Jermyn’s  harness  was  an  additional  reason 
for  cultivating  all  relations  that  were  independent  of  him  ; 
and  pique  at  Harold  Transome’s  behavior  to  him  in  Jermyn’s 
office  perhaps  gave  all  the  more  zest  to  Johnson’s  use  of  his 
pen  and  ink  when  he  wrote  a handbill  in  the  service  of 
Garstin,  and  Garstin’s  incomparable  agent,  Putty,  full  of 
innuendoes  against  Harold  Transome,  as  a descendant  of 
the  Durfey-Transomes.  It  is  a natural  subject  of  self- 
congratulation  to  a man,  when  special  knowledge,  gained 
long  ago  without  any  forecast,  turns  out  to]afford  a special 
inspiration  in  the  present  ; and  Johnson  felt  a new  pleasure 
in  Unconsciousness  that  he  of  all  people  in  the  world  next 
to  Jermyn  had  the  most  intimate  knowledge  of  the  Tran- 
some affairs.  Still  better — some  of  these  affairs  were  secrets 
of  Jermyn’s.  If  in  an  uncomplimentary  spirit  he  might 
have  been  called  Jermyn’s  “ man  of  straw,”  it  was  a satis- 
faction to  know  that  the  unreality  of  the  man  John  Johnson 
was  confined  to  his  appearance  in  annuity  deeds,  and  that 
elsewhere  he  was  solid,  locomotive,  and  capable  of  remem- 
bering anything  for  his  own  pleasure  and  benefit.  To  act 
with  doubleness  towards  a man  whose  conduct  was  double, 
was  so  near  an  approach  to  virtue  that  it  deserved  to  be 
called  by  no  meaner  name  than  diplomacy. 

By  such  causes  it  came  to  pass  that  Christian  held  in  his 
hands  a bill  in  which  Jermyn  was  playfully  alluded  to  as  Mr. 
German  Cozen,  who  won  games  by  clever  shuffling  and  odd 
tricks  without  any  honor,  and  backed  Durfey’s  crib  against 
Bycliffe— in  which  it  was  adroitly  implied  that  the  so-called 
head  of  the  Transomes  was  only  the  tail  of  the  Durfeys — 
and  that  some  said  the  Durfeys  would  have  died  out  and  left 
their  nest  empty  if  it  had  not  been  for  their  German  Cozen. 

Johnson  had  not  dared  to  use  any  recollections  except 
such  as  might  credibly  exist  in  other  minds  besides  his  own. 
In  the  truth  of  the  case,  no  one  but  himself  had  the  prompt* 


250 


FELIX  HOLT, 


ing  to  recall  these  out-worn  scandals  ; but  it  was  likely 
enough  that  such  foul-winged  things  should  be  revived  by 
election  heats  for  Johnson  to  escape  all  suspicion. 

Christian  could  gather  only  dim  and  uncertain  inferences 
from  this  flat  irony  and  heavy  joking  ; but  one  chief  thing 
was  clear  to  him.  He  had  been  right  in  his  conjecture  that 
Jermyn’s  interest  about  Bycliffe  had  its  source  in  some  claim 
of  Bycliffe’s  on  the  Transome  property.  And  then,  there 
was  that  story  of  the  old  bill-sticker’s,  which,  closely  consid- 
ered, indicated  that  the  right  of  the  present  Transomes 
depended,  or,  at  least,  had  depended  on  the  continuance  of 
some  other  lives.  Christian  in  his  time  had  gathered  enough 
legal  notions  to  be  aware  that  possession  by  one  man  some- 
times depended  on  the  life  of  another  ; that  a man  might  sell 
his  own  interest  in  property,  and  the  interest  of  his  descen- 
dants, while  a claim  on  that  property  would  still  remain  to 
some  one  else  than  the  purchaser,  supposing  the  descendants 
became  extinct,  and  the  interests  they  had  sold  were  at  an 
end.  But  under  what  conditions  the  claim  might  be  valid 
or  void  in  any  particular  case,  was  all  darkness  to  him. 
Suppose  Bycliffe  had  any  such  claim  on  the  Transome  estates  : 
how  was  Christian  to  know  whether  at  the  present  moment 
it  was  worth  anything  more  than  a bit  of  rotten  parchment  ? 
Old  Tommy  Trounsem  had  said  that  Johnson  knew  all 
about  it.  But  even  if  Johnson  were  still  above-ground — 
and  all  Johnsons  are  mortal — he  might  still  be  an  under- 
strapper of  Jermyn’s,  in  which  case  his  knowledge  would  be 
on  the  v/rong  side  of  the  hedge  for  the  purposes  of  Henry 
Scaddon.  His  immediate  care  must  be  to  find  out  all  he  could 
about  Johnson.  He  blamed  himself  for  not  having  ques- 
tioned Tommy  further  while  he  had  him  at  command  ; but 
on  this  head  the  bill-sticker  could  hardly  know  more  than 
the  less  dilapidated  denizens  of  Treby. 

Now  it  had  happened  that  during  the  weeks  in  which 
Christian  had  been  at  work  trying  to  solve  the  enigma  of 
Jermyn’s  interest  about  Bycliffe,  Johnson’s  mind  also  had 
been  somewhat  occupied  with  suspicion  and  conjecture  as  to 
new  information  on  the  subject  of  the  old  Bycliffe  claims 
which  Jermyn  intended  to  conceal  from  him.  The  letter  which, 
after  his  interview  with  Christian,  Jermyn  had  written  with 
a sense  of  perfect  safety  to  his  faithful  ally  Johnson,  was,  as 
we  know,  written  to  a Johnson  who  had  found  his  self-love 
incompatible  with  that  faithfulness  of  which  it  was  supposed 
to  be  the  foundation.  Anything  that  the  patron  felt  it  in- 


THE  RADICAL. 


25* 


convenient  for  his  obliged  friend  and  servant  to  know,  became 
by  that  very  fact  an  object  of  peculiar  curiosity.  The  obliged 
friend  and  servant  secretly  doted  on  his  patron’s  inconven- 
ience, provided  that  he  himself  did  not  share  it  ; and  conjec- 
ture naturally  became  active. 

Johnson’s  legal  imagination,  being  very  differently  fur- 
nished from  Christian’s,  was  at  no  loss  to  conceive  conditions 
under  which  there  might  arise  a new  claim  on  the  Transome 
estates.  He  had  before  him  the  whole  history  of  the 
settlement  of  those  estates  made  a hundred  years  ago 
by  John  Justus  Transome,  entailing  them,  whilst  in  his  pos- 
session, on  his  son  Thomas  and  his  heirs-male,  with  remain- 
der to  the  Bycliffes  in  fee.  He  knew  that  Thomas,  son  of 
John  Justus,  proving  a prodigal,  had,  without  the  knowledge 
of  his  father,  the  tenant  in  possession,  sold  his  own  and  his 
descendants’  rights  to  a lawyer-cousin  named  Durfey  ; that, 
therefore,  the  title  of  the  Durfey-Transomes,  in  spite  of  that 
old  Durfey’s  tricks  to  show  the  contrary,  depended  solely  on 
the  purchase  of  the  “ base  fee”  thus  created  by  Thomas  Tran- 
some ; and  that  the  Bycliffes  were  the  “remainder  men  ” who 
might  fairly  oust  the  Durfey-Transomes  if  ever  the  issue  of 
the  prodigal  Thomas  went  clean  out  of  existence,  and  ceased 
to  represent  a right  which  he  had  bargained  away  from  them. 

Johnson,  as  Jermyn’s  subordinate,  had  been  closely  cogni- 
zant of  the  details  concerning  the  suit  instituted  by  success- 
ive Bycliffes,  of  whom  Maurice  Christian  Bycliffe  was  the 
last,  on  the  plea  that  the  extinction  of  Thomas  Tran  some’s 
line  had  actually  come  to  pass — a weary  suit,  which  had 
eaten  into  the  fortunes  of  two  families,  and  hAl  only  made 
the  cankerworms  fat.  The  suit  had  closed  with  the  death 
of  Maurice  Christian  Bycliffe  in  prison  ; but  before  his 
death,  Jermyn’s  exertions  to  get  evidence  that  there  was 
still  issue  of  Thomas  Transome’s  line  surviving,  as  a security 
of  the  Durfey  title,  had  issued  in  the  discovery  of  a Thomas 
Transome  at  Littleshaw,  in  Stonyshire,  who  was  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  pawned  inheritance.  The  death  of  Maurice 
had  made  this  discovery  useless — had  made  it  seem  the 
wiser  part  to  say  nothing  about  it ; and  the  fact  had  remained 
a secret  known  only  to  Jermyn  and  Johnson.  No  other 
Bycliffe  was  known  or  believed  to  exist,  and  the  Durfey- 
Transomes  might  be  considered  safe,  unless — yes,  there  was 
an  “unless”  which  Johnson  could  conceive:  an  heir  or 
heiress  of  the  Bycliffes — if  such  a personage  turned  out  to 
be  in  existence — might  sometime  raise  anew  and  valid  claim 


*52 


FELIX  HOLT, 


when  once  informed  that  wretched  old  Tommy  Trounsem 
the  bill-sticker,  tottering  drunkenly  on  the  edge  of  the  grave, 
was  the  last  issue  remaining  above-ground  from  that  disso- 
lute Thomas  who  played  his  Esau  part  a century  before. 
While  the  poor  old  bill-sticker  breathed,  the  Durfey-Tran- 
somes  could  legally  keep  their  possession  in  spite  of  a possible 
Bycliffe  proved  real  ; but  not  when  the  parish  had  buried  the 
bill-sticker. 

Still,  it  is  one  thing  to  conceive  conditions,  and  another 
to  see  any  chance  of  proving  their  existence.  Johnson  at 
present  had  no  glimpse  of  such  a chance  ; and  even  if  he  ever 
gained  the  glimpse,  he  was  not  sure  that  he  should  ever  make 
any  use  of  it.  His  enquiries  of  Medwin,  in  obedience  to 
Jermyn’s  letter,  had  extracted  only  a negative  as  to  any  in- 
formation possessed  by  the  lawyers  of  Bycliffe  concerning  a 
marriage,  or  expectation  of  offspring  on  his  part.  But  John- 
son felt  not  the  less  stung  by  curiosity  to  know  what  Jermyn 
had  found  out  : that  he  had  found  something  in  relation  to 
a possible  Bycliffe,  Johnson  felt  pretty  sure.  And  he 
thought  with  satisfaction  that  Jermyn  could  not  hinder  him 
from  knowing  what  he  already  knew  about  Thomas  Tran- 
some’s  issue.  Many  things  might  occur  to  alter  his  policy 
and  give  a new  value  to  facts.  Was  it  certain  that  Jermyn 
would  always  be  fortunate  ? 

When  greed  and  unscrupulousness  exhibit  themselves  on 
a grand  historical  scale,  and  there  is  a question  of  peace  or 
war  or  amicable  partition,  it  often  occurs  that  gentlemen  of 
high  diplomatic  talents  have  their  minds  bent  on  the  same 
object  from  different  points  of  view.  Each,  perhaps,  is  think- 
ing of  a certain  duchy  or  province,  with  a view  to  arranging 
the  ownership  in  such  a way  as  shall  best  serve  the  purposes 
of  the  gentleman  with  high  diplomatic  talents  in  whom  each 
is  more  especially  interested.  But  these  select  minds  in  high 
office  can  never  miss  their  aims  from  ignorance  of  each 
other’s  existence  or  whereabouts.  Their  high  titles  may  be 
learned  even  by  common  people  from  every  pocket  almanac. 

But  with  meaner  diplomats,  who  might  be  mutually  useful, 
such  ignorance  is  often  obstructive.  Mr.  John  Johnson  and 
M r.  Christian,  otherwise  Mr.  Scaddon,  might  have  had  a con- 
centration of  purpose  and  an  ingenuity  of  device  fitting  them 
to  make  a figure  in  the  parcelling  of  Europe,  and  yet  they 
might  never  have  met,  simply  because  Johnson  knew  noth- 
ing of  Christian,  and  because  Christian  did  not  know  where 
to  find  Johnson. 


THE  RADICAL. 


253 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

His  nature  is  too  noble  for  the  world  : 

He  would  not  flatter  Neptune  for  his  trident, 

Or  Jove  for  his  power  to  thunder.  His  heart’s  his  mouth  ; 

What  his  breast  forges,  that  his  tongue  must  vent; 

And,  being  angry,  doth  forget  that  ever 
He  heard  the  name  of  death. — Coriolanus. 

Christian  and  Johnson  did  meet,  however,  by  means  that 
were  quite  incalculable.  The  incident  which  brought  them 
into  communication  was  due  to  Felix  Holt,  who  of  all  men 
in  the  world  had  the  least  affinity  either  for  the  industrious 
or  the  idle  parasite. 

Mr.  Lyon  had  urged  Felix  to  go  to  Duffield  on  the  fif- 
teenthof  December  towitness  the  nomination  of  the  candidates 
for  North  Loamshire.  The  minister  wished  to  hear  what 
took  place  ; and  the  pleasure  of  gratifying  him  helped  to 
outweigh  some  opposing  reasons. 

“ I shall  get  into  a rage  at  something  or  other, ” Felix  had 
said.  “ Fve  told  you  one  of  my  weak  points.  Where  I have 
any  particular  business,  I must  incur  the  risks  my  nature 
brings.  But  I’ve  no  particular  business  at  Duffield.  How- 
ever, I’ll  make  a holiday  and  go.  By  dint  of  seeing  folly,  I 
shall  get  lessons  in  patience. 

The  weak  point  to  which  Felix  referred  was  his  liability  to 
be  carried  completely  out  of  his  own  mastery  by  indignant 
anger.  His  strong  health,  his  renunciation  of  selfish  claims, 
his  habitual  preoccupation  with  large  thoughts  and  with 
purposes  independent  of  every-day  casualties,  secured  him  a 
fine  and  even  temper,  free  from  moodiness  or  irritability. 
He  was  full  of  long-suffering  toward  his  unwise  mother, 
who  “ pressed  him  daily  with  her  words  and  urged  him,  so 
that  his  soul  was  vexed  ; ” he  had  chosen  to  fill  his  days  in  a 
way  that  required  the  utmost  exertion  of  patience,  that  re- 
quired those  little  rill-like  outflowings  of  goodness  which  in 
minds  of  great  energy  must  be  fed  from  deep  sources  of 
thought  and  passionate  devotedness.  In  this  way  his  ener- 
gies served  to  make  him  gentle  ; and  now,  in  this  twenty-sixth 
year  of  his  life,  they  had  ceased  to  make  him  angry,  except  in 
the  presence  of  something  that  roused  his  deep  indignation. 
When  once  exasperated,  the  passionateness  of  his  nature 
threw  off  the  yoke  of  a long-trained  consciousness  in  which 
thought  and  emotion  had  been  more  and  more  completely 
mingled,  and  concentrated  itself  in  a rage  as  ungovernable 
as  that  of  boyhood.  He  was  thoroughly  aware  of  the  liabil- 
ity, and  knew  that  in  such  circumstances  he  could  not  answer 


*S4 


FELIX  HOLT, 


for  himself.  Sensitive  people  with  feeble  frames  have  often 
the  same  sort  of  fury  within  them ; but  they  are  themselves  shat- 
tered, and  shatter  nothing.  Felix  had  a terrible  arm:  he  knew 
that  he  was  dangerous  ; and  he  avoided  the  conditions  that 
might  cause  him  exasperation  as  he  would  have  avoided 
intoxicating  drinks  if  he  had  been  in  danger  of  intemperance. 

The  nomination-day  was  a great  epoch  of  successful  trick- 
ery, or,  to  speak  in  a more  parliamentary  manner,  of  war- 
stratagem,  on  the  part  of  skilful  agents.  And  Mr.  Johnson 
had  his  share  of  inward  chuckling  and  self-approval,  as 
one  who  might  justly  expect  increasing  renown,  and  be 
some  day  in  as  general  request  as  the  great  Putty  himself. 
To  have  the  pleasure  and  the  praise  of  electioneering 
ingenuity,  and  also  to  get  paid  for  it,  without  too  much  anx- 
iety whether  the  ingenuity  will  achieve  its  ultimate  end,  per- 
haps gives  to  some  select  persons  a sort  of  satisfaction  in  their 
superiority  to  their  more  agitated  fellow-men  that  is  worthy 
to  be  classed  with  those  generous  enjoyments  of  having  the 
truth  chiefly  to  yourself,  and  of  seeing  others  in  danger  of 
drowning  while  you  are  high  and  dry, which  seem  to  have  been 
regarded  as  unmixed  privileges  by  Lucretius  and  Lord  Bacon. 

One  of  Mr.  Johnson's  great  successes  was  this.  Spratt, 
the  hated  manager  of  the  Sproxton  Colliery,  in  careless  con- 
fidence that  the  colliers  and  other  laborers  under  him  would 
follow  his  orders,  had  provided  carts  to  carry  some  loads  of 
voteless  enthusiasm  to  Duffield  on  behalf  of  Garstin  ; enthu- 
siasm which,  being  already  paid  for  by  the  recognized  benefit 
of  Garstin’s  existence  as  a capitalist  with  a share  in  the 
Sproxton  mines,  was  not  to  cost  much  in  the  form  of  treat- 
ing. A capitalist  was  held  worthy  of  pious  honor  as  the  cause 
why  workingmen  existed.  But  Mr.  Spratt  did  not  suffi- 
ciently consider  that  a cause  which  was  to  be  proved  by  argu- 
ment or  testimony  is  not  an  object  of  passionate  devotion  to 
colliers  : a visible  cause  of  beer  acts  on  them  much  more 
strongly.  And  even  if  there  had  been  any  love  of  the  far- 
off  Garstin,  hatred  of  the  too  immediate  Spratt  would  have 
been  the  stronger  motive.  Hence  Johnson’s  calculations, 
made  long  ago  with  Chubb,  the  remarkable  publican,  had 
been  well  founded,  and  there  had  been  diligent  care  to  sup- 
ply treating  at  Duffield  in  the  name  of  Transome.  After  the 
election  was  over  it  was  not  improbable  that  there  would  be 
much  friendly  joking  between  Putty  and  Johnson  as  to  the  suc- 
cess of  this  trick  against  Putty’s  employer,  and  Johnson  would 
be  conscious  of  rising  in  the  opinion  of  his  celebrated  senior. 


THE  RADICAL, 


*55 

For  the  show  of  hands  and  the  cheering,  the  hustling  and 
the  pelting,  the  roaring  and  the  hissing,  the  hard  hits  with 
small  missiles  and  the  soft  hits  with  small  jokes,  were  strong 
enough  on  the  side  of  Transome  to  balance  the  similar 
“ demonstrations'’  for  Garstin,  even  with  the  Debarry  inter- 
est in  his  favor.  And  the  inconvenient  presence  of  Spratt 
was  easily  got  rid  of  by  a dexterously-managed  accident, 
which  sent  him  bruised  and  limping  from  the  scene  of  action. 
Mr.  Chubb  had  never  before  felt  so  thoroughly  that  the 
occasion  was  up  to  a level  with  his  talents,  while  the  clear 
daylight  in  which  his  virtue  would  appear  when  at  the  elec- 
tion he  voted,  as  his  duty  to  himself  bound  him,  for  Garstin 
only,  gave  him  thorough  repose  of  conscience. 

Felix  Holt  was  the  only  person  looking  on  at  the  senseless 
exhibitions  of  this  nomination-day,  who  knew  from  the 
beginning  the  history  of  the  trick  with  the  Sproxton  men. 
He  had  been  aware  all  along  that  the  treating  at  Chubb’s 
had  been  continued,  and  that  so  far  Harold  Transome’s 
promise  had  produced  no  good  fruits  ; and  what  he  was 
observing  to-day,  as  he  watched  the  uproarious  crowd,  con- 
vinced him  that  the  whole  scheme  would  be  carried  out  just 
as  if  he  had  never  spoken  about  it.  He  could  be  fair  enough 
to  Transome  to  allow  that  he  might  have  wished,  and  yet 
have  been  unable,  with  his  notions  of  success,  to  keep  his 
promise  ; and  his  bitterness  toward  the  candidate  only  took 
the  form  of  contemptuous  pity  ; for  Felix  was  not  sparing  in 
his  contempt  for  men  who  put  their  inward  honor  in  pawn 
by  seeking  the  prizes  of  the  world.  His  scorn  fell  too 
readily  on  the  fortunate.  But  when  he  saw  Johnson  passing 
to  and  fro,  and  speaking  to  Jermyn  on  the  hustings,  he  felt 
himself  getting  angry,  and  jumped  off  the  wheel  of  the 
stationary  cart  on  which  he  was  mounted,  that  he  might  no 
longer  be  in  sight  of  this  man,  whose  vitiating  cant  had  made 
his  blood  hot  and  his  fingers  tingle  on  the  first  day  of  encoun- 
tering him  at  Sproxton.  It  was  a little  too  exasperating  to 
look  at  this  pink-faced  rotund  specimen  of  prosperity,  to 
witness  the  power  for  evil  that  lay  in  his  vulgar  cant,  backed 
by  another  man’s  money,  and  to  know  that  such  stupid 
iniquity  flourished  the  flags  of  Reform,  and  Liberalism,  and 
justice  to  the  needy.  While  the  roaring  and  the  scuffling 
were  still  going  on,  Felix,  with  his  thick  stick  in  his  hand, 
made  his  way  through  the  crowd,  and  walked  on  through 
the  Dufheld  streets,  till  he  came  out  on  a grassy  suburb, 
where  the  houses  surrounded  a small  common.  Here  he 


FELIX  HOLT, 


256 

walked  about  in  the  breezy  air,  and  ate  his  bread  and  apples, 
telling  himself  that  this  angry  haste  of  his  about  evils  that 
could  only  be  remedied  slowly,  could  be  nothing  else  than 
obstructive,  and  might  some  day — he  saw  it  so  clearly  that 
the  thought  seemed  like  a presentiment — be  obstructive  of 
his  own  work. 

“ Not  to  waste  energy,  to  apply  force  where  it  would  tell, 
to  do  small  work  close  at  hand,  not  waiting  for  speculative 
chances  of  heroism,  but  preparing  for  them  ” — these  were 
the  rules  he  had  been  constantly  urging  on  himself.  But 
what  could  be  a greater  waste  than  to  beat  a scoundrel  who 
had  law  and  opodeldoc  at  command  ? After  this  medita- 
tion, Felix  felt  cool  and  wise  enough  to  return  into  the  town, 
not,  however,  intending  to  deny  himself  the  satisfaction  of 
a few  pungent  words  wherever  there  was  place  for  them. 
Blows  are  sarcasms  turned  stupid  : wit  is  a form  of  force 
that  leaves  the  limbs  at  rest. 

Anything  that  could  be  called  a crowd  was  no  longer  to 
be  seen.  The  show  of  hands  having  been  pronounced  to  be 
in  favor  of  Debarry  and  Transome,  and  a poll  having  been 
demanded  for  Garstin,  the  business  of  the  day  might  be  con- 
sidered at  an  end.  But  in  the  street  where  the  hustings  were 
erected,  and  where  the  great  hotels  stood,  there  were  many 
groups,  as  well  as  strollers  and  steady  walkers  to  and  fro. 
Men  in  superior  great-coats  and  well-brushed  hats  were 
awaiting  with  more  or  less  impatience  an  important  dinner, 
either  at  the  Crown,  which  was  Debarry’s  .house,  or  at  the 
Three  Cranes,  which  was  Garstin’s,  or  at  the  Fox  and 
Hounds,  which  was  Transome’s.  Knots  of  sober  retailers, 
who  had  already  dined,  were  to  be  seen  at  some  shop-doors  ; 
men  in  very  shabby  coats  and  miscellaneous  head-coverings, 
inhabitants  of  Duffield  and  'not  county  voters,  were  loung- 
ing about  in  dull  silence,  orlistening,  some  to  a grimy  man 
in  a flannel  shirt,  hatless  and  with  turbid  red  hair,  who  was 
insisting  on  political  points  with  much  more  ease  than  had 
seemed  to  belong  to  the  gentlemen  speakers  on  the  hustings, 
and  others  to  a Scotch  vendor  of  articles  useful  to  sell,  whose 
unfamiliar  accent  seemed  to  have  a guarantee  of  truth  in  it 
wanting  as  an  association  with  everyday  English.  Some 
rough-looking  pipe-smokers,  or  distinguished  cigar-smokers, 
chose  to  walk  up  and  down  in  isolation  and  silence.  But 
the  majority  of  those  who  had  shown  a burning  interest  in 
the  nomination  had  disappeared,  and  cockades  no  longer 
studded  a close-pressed  crowd,  like,  and  also  very  unlike, 


THE  RADICAL. 


*57 


meadow-flowers  among  the  grass.  The  street  pavement  was 
strangely  painted  with  fragments  of  perishable  missiles 
ground  flat  under  heavy  feet  : but  the  workers  were  resting 
from  their  toil,  and  the  buzz  and  tread  and  the  fitfully  dis- 
cernible voices  seemed  like  stillness  to  Felix  after  the  roar 
with  which  the  wide  space  had  been  filled  when  he  left  it. 

The  group  round  the  speaker  in  the  flannel  shirt  stood  at 
the  corner  of  a side-street,  and  the  speaker  himself  was 
elevated  by  the  head  and  shoulders  above  his  hearers,  not 
because  lie  was  tall,  but  because  he  stood  on  a projecting 
stone.  At  the  opposite  corner  of  the  turning  was  the  great 
inn  of  the  Fox  and  Hounds,  and  this  was  the  ultra-Liberal 
quarter  of  the  High  street.  Felix  was  at  once  attracted  by 
this  group  ; he  liked  the  look  of  the  speaker,  whose  bare 
arms  were  powerfully  muscular,  though  he  had  the  pallid 
complexion  of  a man  who  lives  chiefly  amidst  the  heat  of 
furnaces.  He  was  leaning  against  the  dark  stone  building 
behind  him  with  folded  arms,  the  grimy  paleness  of  his  shirt 
and  skin  standing  out  in  high  relief  against  the  dark  stone 
building  behind  him.  He  lifted  up  one  forefinger,  and 
marked  his  emphasis  with  it  as  he  spoke.  His  voice  was 
high  and  not  strong,  but  Felix  recognized  the  fluency  and 
the  method  of  an  habitual  preacher  or  lecturer. 

“ It’s  the  fallacy  of  all  monopolists/’  he  was  saying.  “We 
know  what  monopolists  are  : men  who  want  to  keep  a trade 
all  to  themselves,  under  the  pretence  that  they’ll  furnish  the 
public  with  a better  article.  We  know  what  that  comes  to  : 
in  some  countries  a poor  man  can’t  afford  to  buy  a spoonful 
of  salt,  and  yet  there’s  salt  enough  in  the  world  to  pickle 
every  living  thing  in  it.  That’s  the  sort  of  benefit  monopo- 
lists do  to  mankind.  And  these  are  the  men  who  tell  us  we’re 
to  let  politics  alone ; they’ll  govern  us  better  without  our  know- 
ing anything  about  it.  We  must  mind  our  business;  we  are 
ignorant  ; we’ve  no  time  to  study  great  questions.  But  I 
tell  them  this  : the  greatest  question  in  the  world  is,  how  to 
give  every  man  a man’s  share  in  what  goes  on  in  life ” 

“ Hear,  hear  ! ” said  Felix  in  his  sonorous  voice,  which 
seemed  to  give  a new  impressiveness  to  what  the  speaker 
had  said.  Every  one  looked  at  him  : the  well-washed  face 
and  its  educated  expression  along  with  a dress  more  care- 
less than  that  of  most  well-to-do  workmen  on  a holiday, 
made  his  appearance  strangely  arresting. 

“ Not  a pig’s  share,”  the  speaker  went  on,  “ not  a horse’s, 
not  the  share  of  a machine  fed  with'oil  only  to  make  it  work 


258 


FELIX  HOLT, 


and  nothing  else.  It  isn’t  a man’s  share  just  to  mind  your 
pin-making,  or  your  glass-blowing,  and  higgle  about  your 
own  wages,  and  bring  up  your  family  to  be  ignorant  sons  of 
ignorant  fathers,  and  no  better  prospect  ; that’s  a slave’s 
share  ; we  want  a freeman’s  share,  and  that  is  to  think  and 
speak  and  act  about  what  concerns  us  all,  and  see  whether 
these  fine  gentlemen  who  undertake  to  govern  us  are  doing 
the  best  they  can  for  us.  They’ve  got  the  knowledge,  say 
they.  Very  well,  we’ve  got  the  wants.  There’s  many  a one 
would  be  idle  if  hunger  didn’t  pinch  him  ; but  the  stomach 
sets  us  to  work.  There’s  a fable  told  where  the  nobles  are 
the  belly  and  the  people  the  members.  But  I make  another 
sort  of  fable.  I say,  we  are  the  belly  that  feels  the  pinches, 
and  we’ll  set  these  aristocrats,  these  great  people  who  call 
themselves  our  brains,  to  work  at  some  way  of  satisfying  us 
a bit  better.  The  aristocrats  are  pretty  sure  to  try  and 
govern  for  their  own  benefit  ; but  how  are  we  to  be  sure 
they’ll  try  and  govern  for  ours  ? They  must  be  looked  after, 
I think,  like  other  workmen.  We  must  have  what  we  call 
inspectors,  to  see  whether  the  work’s  well  done  for  us.  We 
want  to  send  our  inspectors  to  Parliament.  Well,  they  say 
— you’ve  got  the  Reform  Bill  ; what  more  can  you  want  ? 
Send  your  inspectors.  But  I say,  the  Reform  Bill  is  a trick 
— it’s  nothing  but  swearing-in  special  constables  to  keep  the 
aristocrats  safe  in  their  monopoly  ; it’s  bribing  some  of  the 
people  with  votes  to  make  them  hold  their  tongues  about 
giving  votes  to  the  rest.  I say,  if  a man  doesn’t  beg  or  steal, 
but  works  for  his  bread,  the  poorer  and  the  more  miserable 
he  is,  the  more  he’d  need  have  a vote  to  send  an  inspector 
to  Parliament — else  the  man  who  is  worst  off  is  likely  to  be 
forgotten  ; and  I say,  he’s  the  man  who  ought  to  be  first  re- 
membered. Else  what  does  their  religion  mean  ? Why  do 
they  build  churches  and  endow  them  that  their  sons 
may  get  paid  well  for  preaching  a Saviour,  and  making  them- 
selves as  little  like  Him  as  can  be  ? If  I want  to  believe  in 
Jesus  Christ,  I must  shut  my  eyes  for  fear  I should  see  a 
parson.  And  what’s  a bishop  ? A bishop’s  a person  dressed 
up,  who  sits  in  the  House  of  Lords  to  help  and  throw  out 
Reform  Bills.  And  because  it’s  hard  to  get  anything  in  the 
shape  of  a man  to  dress  himself  up  like  that,  and  do  such 
work,  they  have  to  give  him  a palace  for  it,  and  plenty  of 
thousands  a-year.  And  then  they  cry  out — 4 The  Church  is 
in  danger,’ — ‘ the  poor  man’s  Church.’  And  why  is  it  the 
poor  man’s  Church  ? Because  he  can  have  a seat  for  noth- 


THE  RADICAL. 


259 


ing.  I think  it  is  for  nothing  ; for  it  would  be  hard  to  tell 
what  he  gets  by  it.  If  the  poor  man  had  a vote  in  the  mat- 
ter, I think  he’d  choose  a different  sort  of  Church  to  what 
that  is.  But  do  you  think  the  aristocrats  will  ever  alter  it, 
if  the  belly  doesn’t  pinch  them  ? Not  they.  It’s  part  of 
their  monopoly.  They’ll  supply  us  with  our  religion  like 
everything  else,  and  get  a profit  on  it.  They’ll  give  us 
plenty  of  heaven.  We  may  have  land  there . That’s  the 
sort  of  religion  they  like — a religion  that  gives  us  working- 
men heaven,  and  nothing  else.  But  we’ll  offer  to  change 
with  them.  We’ll  give  them  back  some  of  their  heaven,  and 
take  it  out  in  something  for  us  and  our  children  in  this 
world.  They  don’t  seem  to  care  so  much  about  heaven 
themselves  till  they  feel  the  gout  very  bad  ; but  you  won’t 
get  them  to  give  up  anything  else,  if  you  don’t  pinch  ’em  for 
it.  And  to  pinch  them  enough,  we  must  get  the  suffrage, 
we  must  get  votes,  that  we  may  send  the  men  to  Parliament 
who  will  do  our  work  for  us  ; and  we  must  have  Parliament 
dissolved  every  year,  that  we  may  change  our  man  if  he 
doesn’t  do  what  we  want  him  to  do  ; and  we  must  have  the 
country  divided  so  that  the  little  kings  of  the  counties  can’t 
do  as  they  like,  but  must  be  shaken  up  in  one  bag  with  us. 
I say,  if  we  workingmen  are  ever  to  get  a man’s  share,  we 
must  have  universal  suffrage,  and  annual  Parliaments,  and 
the  vote  by  ballot,  and  electoral  districts.” 

“No! — something  else  before  all  that,”  said  Felix,  again 
startling  the  audience  into  looking  at  him.  But  the  speaker 
glanced  coldly  at  him  and  went  on. 

“ That’s  what  Sir  Francis  Burdett  went  in  for  fifteen  years 
ago  ; and  it’s  the  right  thing  for  us,  if  it  was  Tomfool  who 
went  in  for  it.  You  must  lay  hold  of  such  handles  as  you 
can.  I don’t  believe  much  in  Liberal  aristocrats  ; but  if 
there’s  any  fine  carved  gold-headed  stick  of  an  aristocrat 
will  make  a broomstick  of  himself,  I’ll  lose  no  time  but  I’ll 
sweep  with  him.  And  that’s  what  I think  about  Transome. 
And  if  any  of  you  have  acquaintance  among  county  voters, 
give  ’em  a hint  that  you  wish  ’em  to  vote  for  Transome.” 

At  the  last  word,  the  speaker  stepped  down  from  his  slight 
eminence,  and  walked  away  rapidly,  like  a man  whose  lei- 
sure was  exhausted,  and  who  must  go  about  his  business. 
But  he  had  left  an  appetite  in  his  audience  for  further  ora- 
tory, and  one  of  them  seemed  to  express  a general  senti- 
ment as  he  hurried  immediately  Lo  Felix,  and  said,  “Come, 
sir,  what  do  you  say  ? ” 


z6o 


FELIX  HOLT, 


Felix  did  at  once  what  he  would  very  likely  have  done 
without  being  asked — he  stepped  on  the  stone,  and  took  off 
his  cap  by  an  instinctive  prompting  that  always  led  him  to 
speak  uncovered.  The  effect  of  his  figure  in  relief  against 
the  stone  background  was  unlike  that  of  the  previous  speaker. 
He  was  considerably  taller,  his  head  and  neck  were  more  mass- 
ive, and  the  expression  of  his  mouth  and  eyes  was  something 
very  different  from  the  mere  acuteness  and  rather  hard-lipped 
antagonism  of  the  trades-union  man.  Felix  Holt’s  face  had 
the  look  of  habitual  meditative  abstraction  from  objects  of 
mere  personal  vanity  or  desire,  which  is  the  peculiar  stamp 
of  culture,  and  makes  a very  roughly-cut  face  worthy  to  be 
called  “ the  human  face  divine.”  Even  lions  and  dogs  know 
a distinction  between  men’s  glances  ; and  doubtless  those 
Dufheld  men,  in  the  expectation  with  which  they  looked  up 
at  Felix,  were  unconsciously  influenced  by  the  grandeur  of 
his  full  yet  firm  mouth, and  the  calm  clearness  of  his  gray  eyes, 
which  were  somehow  unlike  what  they  were  accustomed  to  see 
along  with  an  old  brown  velveteen  coat, and  an  absence  of  chin- 
propping. When  he  began  to  speak,  the  contrast  of  voice  was 
still  stronger  than  that  of  appearance.  The  man  in  the  flannel 
shirt  had  not  been  heard — had  probably  not  cared  to  be  heard 
— beyond  the  immediate  group  of  listeners.  But  Felix  at  once 
drew  the  attention  of  persons  comparatively  at  a distance. 

“ In  my  opinion,”  he  said,  almost  the  moment  after  he 
was  addressed,  “ that  was  a true  word  spoken  by  your  friend 
when  he  said  the  great  question  was  how  to  give  every  man 
a man’s  share  in  life.  But  I think  he  expects  voting  to  do 
more  toward  it  than  I do.  I want  the  workingmen  to  have 
power.  I’m  a workingman  myself,  and  I don’t  want  to  be 
anything  else.  But  there  are  two  sorts  of  power.  There’s  a 
power  to  do  mischief — to  undo  what  has  been  done  with 
great  expense  and  labor,  to  waste  and  destroy,  to  be  cruel  to  the 
weak,  to  lie  and  quarrel,  and  to  talk  poisonous  nonsense. 
That’s  the  sort  of  power  that  ignorant  numbers  have.  It 
never  made  a joint  stool  or  planted  a potato.  Do  you  think 
it’s  likely  to  do  much  toward  governing  a great  country,  and 
making  wise  laws,  and  giving  shelter,  food,  and  clothes  to 
millions  of  men  ? Ignorant  power  comes  in  the. end  to  the 
same  thing  as  wicked  power  ; it  makes  misery.  It’s  another 
sort  of  power  that  I want  us  workingmen  to  have,  and  I can 
see  plainly  enough  that  our  all  having  votes  will  do  little 
toward  it  at  present.  I hope  we,  or  the  children  that  come 
after  us,  will  get  plenty  of  political  power  some  time.  I tell 


THE  RADICAL. 


261 


everybody  plainly,  I hope  there  will  be  great  changes,  and 
that  some  time,  whether  we  live  to  see  it  or  not,  men  will 
have  come  to  be  ashamed  of  things  they’re  proud  of  now. 
But  I should  like  to  convince  you  that  votes  would  never 
give  you  political  power  worth  having  while  things  are  as 
they  are  now,  and  that  if  you  go  the  right  way  to  work  you 
may  get  power  sooner  without  votes.  Perhaps  all  you  who 
hear  me  are  sober  men,  who  try  to  learn  as  much  of  the 
nature  of  things  as  you  can,  and  to  be  as  little  like  fools  as 
possible.  A fool  or  idiot  is  one  who  expects  things  to  hap- 
pen that  never  can  happen  ; he  pours  milk  into  a can  with- 
out a bottom,  and  expects  the  milk  to  stay  there.-  The  more 
of  such  vain  expectations  a man  has,  the  more  he  is  a fool 
or  idiot.  And  if  any  workingman  expects  a vote  to  do  for 
him  what  it  never  can  do,  he’s  foolish  to  that  amount,  if  no 
more.  I think  that’s  clear  enough,  eh  ? ” 

“ Hear,  hear,”  said  several  voices,  but  they  were  not  those 
of  the  original  group  ; they  belonged  to  some  strollers  who 
had  been  attracted  by  Felix  Holt’s  vibrating  voice,  and  were 
Tories  from  the  Crown.  Among  them  was  Christian,  who 
was  smoking  a cigar  with  a pleasure  he  always  felt  in  being 
among  people  who  did  not  knpw  him,  and  doubtless  took 
him  to  be  something  higher  than  he  really  was.  Hearers 
from  the  Fox  and  Hounds  also  were  slowly  adding  them- 
selves to  the  nucleus.  Felix,  accessible  to  the  pleasure  of 
being  listened  to,  went  on  with  more  and  more  animation  : 
“ The  way  to  get  rid  of  folly  is  to  get  rid  of  vain  expecta- 
tions, and  of  thoughts  that  don’t  agree  with  the  nature  of 
things.  The  men  who  have  had  true  thoughts  about  water, 
and  what  it  will  do  when  it  is  turned  into  steam  and  under 
all  sorts  of  circumstances,  have  made  themselves  a great 
power  in  the  world  : they  are  turning  the  wheels  of  engines 
that  will  help  to  change  most  things.  But  no  engines  would 
have  done,  if  there  had  been  false  notions  about  the  way 
water  would  act.  Now,  all  the  schemes  about  voting,  and 
districts,  and  annual  Parliaments,  and  the  rest,  are  engines, 
and  the  water  or  steam — the  force  that  is  to  work  them — 
must  come  out  of  human  nature — out  of  men’s  passions, 
feelings,  desires.  Whether  the  engines  will  do  good  work  or 
bad  depends  on  these  feelings  ; and  if  we  have  false  expect- 
ations about  men’s  characters,  we  are  very  much  like  the 
idiot  who  thinks  he’ll  carry  milk  in  a can  without  a bottom. 
In  my  opinion,  the  notions  about  what  mere  voting  will  do 
are  very  much  of  that  sort,” 


262 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ That’s  very  fine,”  said  a man  in  dirty  fustian, with  a scorn- 
ful laugh.  “But  how  are  we  to  get  the  power  without  votes  ? 99 

“ I’ll  tell  you  what’s  the  greatest  power  under  heaven,” 
said  Felix,  “ and  that  is  public  opinion — the  ruling  belief  in 
society  about  what  is  right  and  what  is  wrong,  what  is  hon- 
orable and  what  is  shameful.  That’s  the  steam  that  is  to 
work  the  engines.  How  can  political  freedom  make  us  bet- 
ter, any  more  than  a religion  we  don’t  believe  in,  if  people 
laugh  and  wink  when  they  see  men  abuse  and  defile  it  ? And 
while  public  opinion  is  what  it  is — while  men  have  no  better 
beliefs  about  public  duty — while  corruption  is  not  felt  to  be  a 
damning  disgrace — while  men  are  not  ashamed  in  Parliament 
and  out  of  it  to  make  public  questions  which  concern  the 
welfare  of  millions  a mere  screen  for  their  own  petty  private 
ends, — I say,  no  fresh  scheme  of  voting  will  much  mend  our 
condition.  For,  take  us  workingmen  of  all  sorts.  Suppose 
out  of  every  hundred  who  had  a vote  there  were  thirty  who 
had  some  soberness,  some  sense  to  choose  with,  some  good 
feeling  to  make  them  wish  the  right  thing  for  all.  And  sup- 
pose there  were  seventy  out  of  the  hundred  who  were,  half  of 
them,  not  sober,  who  had  no  sense  to  choose  one  thing  in 
politics  more  than  another,  and  who  had  so  little  good  feeling 
in  them  that  they  wasted  on  their  own  drinking  the  money 
that  should  have  helped  to  feed  and  clothe  their  wives  and 
children  ; and  another  half  of  them  who,  if  they  didn’t  drink, 
were  too  ignorant  or  stupid  to  see  any  good  for  themselves 
better  than  pocketing  a five-shilling  piece  when  it  was  offered 
them.  Where  would  be  the  political  power  of  the  thirty 
sober  men  ? The  power  would  lie  with  the  seventy  drunken 
and  stupid  votes  ; and  I’ll  tell  you  what  sort  of  men  would 
get  the  power — what  sort  of  men  would  end  by  returning 
whom  they  pleased  to  Parliament.” 

Felix  had  seen  every  face  around  him,  and  had  particu- 
larly noticed  a recent  addition  to  his  audience  ; but  now  hq 
looked  about  him,  without  appearing  to  fix  his  glance  on  any 
one.  In  spite  of  his  cooling  meditations  an  hour  ago,  his 
pulse  was  getting  quickened  by  indignation,  and  the  desire 
to  crush  what  he  hated  was  likely  to  vent  itself  in  articula- 
tion. His  tone  became  more  biting. 

“ They  would  be  men  who  would  undertake  to  do  the  busi- 
ness for  a candidate,  and  return  him  : men  who  have  no  real 
opinions,  but  who  pilfer  the  words  of  every  opinion,  and  turn 
them  into  a cant  which  will  serve  their  purpose  at  the  mo- 
ment ; men  who  look  out  for  dirty  work  to  make  their  for- 


THE  RADICAL. 


263 


tunes  by,  because  dirty  work  wants  little  talent  and  no  con- 
science ; men  who  know  all  the  ins  and  outs  of  bribery,  be- 
cause there  is  not  a cranny  in  their  own  souls  where  a bribe 
can’t  enter.  Such  men  as  these  will  be  the  masters  wher- 
ever there’s  a majority  of  voters  who  care  more  for  money, 
for  drink,  more  for  some  mean  little  end  which  is  their  own 
and  nobody  else’s,  than  for  anything  that  has  ever  been 
called  Right  in  the  world.  For  suppose  there’s  a poor  voter 
named  Jack,  who  has  seven  children,  and  twelve  or  fifteen 
shillings  a-week  wages,  perhaps  less.  Jack  can’t  read — I 
don’t  say  whose  fault  that  is — he  never  had  the  chance  to 
learn  ; he  knows  so  little  thaFhe  perhaps  thinks  God  made 
the  poor-laws,  and  if  anybody  said  the  pattern  of  the  work- 
house  was  laid  down  in  the  Testament,  he  wouldn’t  be  able  to 
contradict  them.  What  is  poor  Jack  likely  to  do  when  he 
sees  a smart  stranger  coming  to  him,  who  happens  to  be  just 
one  of  these  men  that  I say  will  be  the  masters  till  public 
opinion  gets  too  hot  for  them  ? He’s  a middle-sized  man, 
we’ll  say  ; stout,  with  coat  upon  coat  of  fine  broadcloth,  open 
enough  to  show  a fine  gold  chain  : none  of  your  dark,  scowl- 
ing men,  but  one  with  an  innocent  pink-and-white  skin  and 
very  smooth  light  hair — a most  respectable  man,  who  calls 
himself  a good,  sound,  well-known  English  name — as  Green, 
or  Baker,  or  Wilson,  or  let  us  say,  Johnson ” 

Felix  was  interrupted  by  an  explosion  of  laughter  from  a 
majority  of  the  bystanders.  Some  eyes  had  been  turned  on 
Johnson,  who  stood  on  the  right  hand  of  Felix,  at  the  very 
beginning  of  the  description,  and  these  were  gradually  fol- 
lowed by  others,  till  at  last  every  hearer’s  attention  was  fixed 
on  him,  and  the  first  burst  of  laughter  from  the  two  or  three 
who  knew  the  attorney’s  name,  let  every  one  sufficiently  into 
the  secret  to  make  the  amusement  common.  Johnson,  who 
had  kept  his  ground  till  his  name  was  mentioned,  now  turned 
away,  looking  unusually  white  after  being  unusually  red,  and 
feeling  by  an  attorney’s  instinct  for  his  pocket-book,  as  if  he 
felt  it  was  a case  for  taking  down  the  names  of  witnesses. 

All  the  well-dressed  hearers  turned  away  too,  thinking 
they  had  had  the  cream  of  the  speech  in  the  joke  against 
Johnson,  which,  as  a thing  worth  telling,  helped  to  recall 
them  to  the  scene  of  dinner. 

“ Who  is  this  Johnson  ? ” said  Christian  to  a young  man 
who  had  been  standing  near  fiim,  and  had  been  one  of  the 
first  to  laugh.  Christian’s  curiosity  had  naturally  been 
awakened  by  what  might  prove  a golden  opportunity. 


264 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ Oh — a London  attorney.  He  acts  for  Transome.  That 
tremendous  fellow  at  the  corner  there  is  some  red-hot 
Radical  demagogue,  and  Johnson  has  offended  him,  1 sup- 
pose ; else  he  wouldn’t  have  turned  in  that  way  on  a man  of 
their  own  party.” 

“I  had  heard  there  was  a Johnson  who  was  an  under- 
strapper of  Jermyn’s,”  said  Christian. 

“ Well,  so  this  man  may  have  been  for  what  I know.  But 
he’s  a London  man  now — a very  busy  fellow — on  his  own 
legs  in  Bedford  Row.  Ha,  ha  ! it’s  capital,  though,  when 
these  Liberals  get  a slap  in  the  face  from  the  workingmen 
they’re  so  very  fond  of.” 

Another  turn  along  the  street  enabled  Christian  to  come 
to  a resolution.  Having  seen  Jermyn  drive  away  an  hour 
before,  he  was  in  no  fear  : he  walked  at  once  to  the  Fox 
and  Hounds  and  asked  to  speak  to  Mr.  Johnson.  A brief 
interview,  in  which  Christian  ascertained  that  he  had  before 
him  the  Johnson  mentioned  by  the  bill-sticker,  issued  in  the 
appointment  of  a longer  one  at  a later  hour;  and  before  they 
left  Duffield  they  had  come  not  exactly  to  a mutual  under- 
standing,but  to  an  exchange  of  information  mutually  welcome. 

Christian  had  been  very  cautious  in  the  commencement, 
only  intimating  that  he  knew  something  important  which 
some  chance  hints  had  induced  him  to  think  might  be 
interesting  to  Mr.  Johnson,  but  that  this  entirely  depended 
on  how  far  he  had  a common  interest  with  Mr.  Jermyn. 
Johnson  replied  that  he  had  much  business  in  which  that 
gentleman  was  not  concerned,  but  that  to  a certain  extent 
they  had  a common  interest.  Probably  then,  Christian 
observed,  the  affairs  of  the  Transome  estate  were  part  of 
the  business  in  which  Mr.  Jermyn  and  Mr.  Johnson  might 
be  understood  to  represent  each  other,  in  which  case  he 
need  not  detain  Mr.  Johnson  ? At  this  hint  Johnson  could 
not  conceal  that  he  was  becoming  eager.  He  had  no  idea 
what  Christian’s  information  was,  but  there  were  many 
grounds  on  which  Johnson  desired  to  know  as  much  as  he 
could  about  the  Transome  affairs  independently  of  Jermyn. 
By  little  and  little  an  understanding  was  arrived  at.  Chris- 
tian told  of  his  interview  with  Tommy  Trounsem,  and 
stated  that  if  Johnson  could  show  him  whether  the  knowl- 
edge could  have  any  legal  value,  he  could  bring  evidence 
that  a legitimate  child  of  Bycliffe’s  existed  : he  felt  certain 
of  his  fact,  and  of  his  proof.  Johnson  explained,  that  in 
this  case  the  death  of  the  old  bill-sticker  would  give  the 


THE  RADICAL. 


265 


child  the  first  valid  claim  to  the  Bycliffe  heirship  ; that  for 
his  own  part  he  should  be  glad  to  further  a true  claim,  but 
that  caution  would  have  to  be  observed.  How  did  Christian 
know  that  Jermyn,  was  informed  on  this  subject  ? Christian, 
more  and  more  convinced  that  Johnson  would  be  glad  to 
counteract  Jermyn  at  length  became  explicit  about  Esther, 
but  still  withheld  his  own  real  name,  and  the  nature  of  his 
relations  with  Bycliffe.  He  said  he  would  bring  the  rest  of 
his  information  when  Mr.  Johnson  took  the  case  up  seriously, 
and  place  it  in  the  hands  of  Bycliffe’s  old  lawyers — of  course 
he  would  do  that?  Johnson  replied  that  he  would  certainly 
do  that  ; but  that  there  were  legal  niceties  which  Mr. 
Christian  was  probably  not  acquainted  with  ; that  Esther’s 
claim  had  not  yet  accrued,  and  chat  hurry  was  useless. 

The  two  men  parted,  each  in  distrust  of  the  other,  but 
each  well  pleased  to  have  learned  something.  Johnson  was 
not  at  all  sure  how  he  should  act,  but  thought  it  likely  that 
events  would  soon  guide  him.  Christian  was  beginning  to 
meditate  a way  of  securing  his  own  ends  without  depending 
in  the  least  on  Johnson’s  procedure.  It  was  enough  for  him 
that  he  was  now  assured  of  Esther’s  legal  claim  on  the 
Transome  estates. 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

“ In  the  copia  of  the  factious  language  the  word  Tory  was  entertained,  and  being  a 
vocal  clever-sounding  word,  readily  pronounced,  it  kept  its  hold,  and  took  possession 

of  the  foul  mouths  of  the  faction. ;The  Loyalists  began  to  cheer  up  and  to  take 

heart  of  grace,  and  in  the  working  of  this  crisis,  according  to  the  common  law  of  scolding, 
they  considered  which  way  to  make  payment  for  so  much  of  Tory  as  they  had  been 

treated  with  to  clear  scores. Immediately  the  train  took,  and  ran  like  wildfire  and 

became  general.  And  so  the  account  of  Tory  was  balanced,  and  soon  began  to  run  up 
a sharp  score  on  the  other  side.” — North’s  Exavien , p.  321. 

At  last  the  great  epoch  of  the  election  for  North  Loam- 
shire  had  arrived.  The  roads  approaching  Treby  were 
early  traversed  by  a larger  number  of  vehicles,  horsemen, 
and  also  foot-passengers  than  were  ever  seen  at  the  annual 
fair.  Treby  was  the  polling-place  for  many  voters  whose 
faces  were  quite  strange  in  the  town  ; and  if  there  were 
some  strangers  who  did  not  come  to  poll,  though  they  had 
business  not  unconnected  with  the  election,  they  were  not 
liable  to  be  regarded  with  suspicion  or  especial  curiosity.  It 
was  understood  that  no  division  of  a county  had  ever  been 
more  thoroughly  canvassed,  and  that  there  would  be  a hard 
run  between  Garstin  and  Transome.  Mr.  Johnson’s  head- 
quarters were  at  Duffield  ; but  it  was  a maxim  which  he 
repeated  after  the  great  Putty,  that  a capable  agent  makes 
himself  omnipresent;  and  quite  apart  from  the  express  be- 


2 66 


FELIX  HOLT, 


tween  him  and  Jermyn, Mr  John  Johnson’s  presence  in  the  uni- 
verse had  potent  effects  on  this  December  day  at  TrebyMagna. 

A slight  drizzling  rain  which  was  observed  by  some  Tories 
who  looked  out  of  their  bedroom  windows  before  six  o’clock, 
made  them  hope  that,  after  all,  the  day  might  pass  off  better 
than  alarmists  had  expected.  The  rain  was  felt  to  be  some- 
how on  the  side  of  quiet  and  Conservatism  ; but  soon  the 
breaking  of  the  clouds  and  the  mild  gleams  of  a December 
sun  brought  back  previous  apprehensions.  As  there  were 
already  precedents  for  riot  at  a Reformed  election,  and  as 
the  Trebian  district  had  had  its  confidence  in  the  natural 
course  of  things  somewhat  shaken  by  a landed  proprietor 
with  an  old  name  offering  himself  as  a Radical  candidate, 
the  election  had  been  looked  forward  to  by  many  with  a 
vague  sense  that  it  would  be  an  occasion  something  like  a 
fighting  match,  when  bad  characters  would  probably  assem- 
ble, and  there  might  be  struggles  and  alarms  for  respectable 
men,  which  would  make  it  expedient  for  them  to  take  a little 
neat  brandy  as  a precaution  beforehand  and  a restorative 
afterward.  The  tenants  on  Tie  Transome  estate  were  com- 
paratively fearless  : poor  Mr.  Goffe,  of  Rabbit’s  End,  con- 
sidered that  “ one  thing  was  as  mauling  as  the  other,”  and 
that  an  election  was  no  worse  than  the  sheep-rot  ; while  Mr. 
Dibbs,  taking  the  more  cheerful  view  of  a prosperous  man, 
reflected  that  if  the  Radicals  were  dangerous,  if  was  safer 
to  be  on  their  side.  It  was  the  voters  for  Debarry  and 
Garstin  who  considered  that  they  alone  had  the  right  to  re- 
gard themselves  as  targets  for  evil-minded  men  ; and  Mr. 
Crowder,  if  he  could  have  got  his  ideas  countenanced,  would 
have  recommended  a muster  of  farm-servants  with  defensive 
pitchforks  on  the  side  of  Church  and  king.  But  the  bolder 
men  were  rather  gratified  by  the  prospect  of  being  groaned 
at,  so  that  they  might  face  about  and  groan  in  return. 

Mr.  Crow,  the  high  constable  of  Treby,  inwardly  rehearsed 
a brief  address  to  a riotous  crowd  in  case'it  should  be  wanted, 
having  been  warned  by  the  rector  that  it  was  a primary  duty 
on  these  occasions  to  keep  a watch  against  provocation  as 
well  as  violence.  The  rector,  with  a brother  magistrate  who 
was  on  the  spot,  had  thought  it  desirable  to  swear  in  some 
special  constables,  but  the  presence  of  loyal  men  not  abso- 
lutely required  for  the  polling  was  not  looked  at  in  the  light 
of  a provocation.  The  Benefit  Clubs  from  various  quarters 
made  a show,  some  with  the  orange-colored  ribbons  and 
Streamers  of  the  true  Tory  candidate?  some  with  the  mazarine 


THE  RADICAL. 


267 


of  the  Whig.  The  orange-colored  bands  played  <c  Auld  Lang 
Syne,”  and  a louder  mazarine  band  came  across  them  with 
“ Oh,  whistle  and  I will  come  to  thee,  my  lad” — probably 
as  the  tune  the  most  symbolical  of  Liberalism  which  their 
repertory  would  furnish.  There  was  not  a single  club  bear- 
ing the  Radical  blue  : the  Sproxton  Club  members  wore  the 
mazarine,  and  Mr.  Chubb  wore  so  much  of  it  that  he  looked 
(at  a sufficient  distance)  like  a very  large  gentianella.  It 
was  generally  understood  that  “ these  brave  fellows,”  repre- 
senting the  fine  institution  of  Benefit  Clubs,  holding  aloft 
the  motto,  “ Let  brotherly  love  continue,”  were  a civil  force 
calculated  to  encourage  voters  of  sound  opinions  and  keep 
up  their  spirits.  But  a considerable  number  of  unadorned 
heavy  navvies,  colliers,  and  stone-pit  men,  who  used  their 
freedom  as  British  subjects  to  be  present  in  Treby  on  this 
great  occasion,  looked  like  a possible  uncivil  force  whose 
politics  were  dubious  until  it  was  clearly  seen  for  whom  they 
cheered  and  for  whom  they  groaned. 

Thus  the  way  up  to  the  polling-booths  was  variously 
lined,  and  those  who  walked  it,  to  whatever  side  they 
belonged,  had  the  advantage  of  hearing  from  the  opposite 
side  what  were  the  most  marked  defects  or  excesses  in  their 
personal  appearance  ; for  the  Trebians  of  that  day  held, 
without  being  aware  that  they  had  Cicero’s  authority  for  it, 
that  the  bodily  blemishes  of  an  opponent  were  a legitimate 
ground  for  ridicule  ; but  if  the  voter  frustrated  wit  by  being 
handsome,  he  was  groaned  at  and  satirized  according  to  a 
formula,  in  which  the  adjective  was  Tory,  Whig,  or  Radical, 
as  the  case  might  be,  and  the  substantive  a blank  to  be  filled 
up  after  the  taste  of  the  speaker. 

Some  of  the  more  timid  had  chosen  to  go  through  this 
ordeal  as  early  as  possible  in  the  morning.  One  of  the 
earliest  was  Mr.  Timothy  Rose,  the  gentleman -farmer  from 
Leek  Malton.  He  had  left  home  with  some  foreboding, 
having  swathed  his  more  vital  parts  in  layers  of  flannel,  and 
put  on  two  great-coats  as  a soft  kind  of  armor.  But  reflect- 
ing with  some  trepidation  that  there  were  no  resources  for 
protecting  his  head,  he  once  more  wavered  in  his  intention  to 
vote  ; he  once  more  observed  to  Mrs.  Rose  that  these  were 
hard  times  when  a man  of  independent  property  was 
expected  to  vote  “ willy-nilly  ” ; but  finally  coerced  by  the 
sense  that  he  should  be  looked  ill  on  “in  these  times”  if  he 
did  not  stand  by  the  gentlemen  round  about,  he  set  out  in 
his  gig,  taking  with  him  a powerful  wagoner,  whom  he 


268 


FELIX  HOLT, 


ordered  to  keep  him  in  sight  as  he  went  to  the  polling-booth. 
It  was  hardly  pore  than  nine  o’clock  when  Mr.  Rose,  having 
thus  come  up  to  the  level  of  his  times,  cheered  himself  with 
a little  cherry-brandy  at  the  Marquis,  drove  away  in  a much 
more  courageous  spirit,  and  got  down  at  Mr.  Nolan’s,  just 
outside  the  town.  The  retired  Londoner,  he  considered, 
was  a man  of  experience,  who  would  estimate  properly  the 
judicious  course  he  had  taken,  and  could  make  it  known  to 
others.  Mr.  Nolan  was  superintending  the  removal  of  some 
shrubs  in  his  garden. 

“ Well,  Mr.  Nolan,”  said  Rose,  twinkling  a self-complacent 
look  over  the  red  prominence  of  his  cheeks,  “ have  you  been 
to  give  your  vote  yet  ? ” 

“ No  ; all  in  good  time.  I shall  go  presently.” 

“Well,  I wouldn’t  lose  an  hour,  I wouldn’t.  I said  to 
myself,  if  I’ve  got  to  do  gentlemen  a favor,  I’ll  do  it  at  once. 
You  see,  I’ve  got  no  landlord,  Nolan — I’m  in  that  position 
o’  life  that  I can  be  independent.” 

“ J'ust  so,  my  dear  sir,”  said  the  wiry-faced  Nolan,  pinching 
his  under-lip  between  his  thumb  and  finger,  and  giving  one 
of  those  wonderful  universal  shrugs,  by  which  he  seemed  to 
be  recalling  all  his  garments  from  a tendency  to  disperse 
themselves.  “Come  in  and  see  Mrs.  Nolan?” 

“ No,  no,  thankye.  Mrs.  Rose  expects  me  back.  But,  as 
I was  saying,  I’m  a independent  man,  and  I consider  it’s 
not  my  part  to  show  favor  to  one  more  than  another,  but  to 
make  things  as  even  as  I can.  If  I’d  been  a tenant  to  any- 
body, well,  in  course  I must  have  voted  for  my  landlord — 
that  stands  to  sense.  But  I wish  everybody  well ; and  if 
one’s  returned  to  Parliament  more  than  another,  nobody 
can  say  it’s  my  doing  ; for  when  you  can  vote  for  two,  you 
can  make  things  even.  So  I gave  one  to  Debarry  and  one 
to  Transome  ; and  I wish  Garstin  no  ill,  but  I can’t  help  the 
odd  number,  and  he  hangs  on  to  Debarry,  they  say.” 

“God  bless  me,  sir,”  said  Mr.  Nolan,  coughing  down  a 
laugh,  “ don’t  you  perceive  that  you  might  as  well  have 
stayed  at  home  and  not  voted  at  all,  unless  you  would  rather 
send  a Radical  to  Parliament  than  a sober  Whig  ?” 

“Well,  I’m  sorry  you  should  have  anything  to- say  against 
what  I’ve  done,  Nolan,”  said  Mr.  Rose,  rather  crestfallen, 
though  sustained  by  inward  warmth.  “ I thought  you’d 
agree  with  me,  as  you’re  a sensible  man.  But  the  most  a 
independent  man  can  do  is  to  try  and  please  all  ; and  if  he 
hasn’t  the  luck — here’s  wishing  I may  do  it  another  time,” 


THE  RADICAL. 


269 


added  Mr.  Rose,  apparently  confounding  a toast  with  a 
salutation,  for  he  put  out  his  hand  for  a passing  shake,  and 
then  stepped  into  his  gig  again. 

At  the  time  that  Mr.  Timothy  Rose  left  the  town,  the 
crowd  in  King  Street  and  in  the  market-place,  where  the 
polling-booths  stood,  was  fluctuating.  Voters  as  yet  were 
scanty,  and  brave  fellows  who  had  come  from  any  distance 
this  morning,  or  who  had  sat  up  late  drinking  the  night  be- 
fore,required  some  reinforcement  of  their  strength  and  spirits. 
Every  public  house  in  Treby,  not  excepting  the  venerable 
and  sombre  Cross-Keys,  was  lively  with  changing  and  nu~ 
merous  company.  Not,  of  course,  mat  there  was  any  treat- 
ing : treating  necessarily  had  stopped,  from  moral  scruples, 
when  once  “ the  wits  were  out  ” ; but  there  was  drinking, 
which  did  equally  well  under  any  name. 

Poor  Tommy  Trounsem,  breakfasting  here  on  Falstaff’s 
proportion  of  bread,  and  something  which,  for  gentility’s 
sake,  I will  call  sack,  was  more  than  usually  victorious  over 
the  ills  of  life,  and  felt  himself  one  of  the  heroes  of  the  day. 
He  had  an  immense  light-blue  cockade  in  his  hat,  and  an 
amount  of  silver  in  a dirty  little  canvas  bag  which  aston- 
ished himself.  For  some  reason,  at  first  inscrutable  to  him, 
he  had  been  paid  for  his  bill-sticking  with  great  liberality  at 
Mr.  Jermyn’s  office,  in  spite  of  his  having  been  the  victim 
of  a trick  by  which  he  had  once  lost  his  own  bills  and  pasted 
up  Debarry’s  ; but  he  soon  saw  that  this  was  simply  a recog- 
nition of  his  merit  as  “ an  old  family  kept  out  of  its  rights,” 
and  also  of  his  peculiar  share  in  an  occasion  when  the  fam- 
ily was  to  get  into  Parliament.  Under  these  circumstances, 
it  was  due  from  him  that  he  should  show  himself  prominently 
where  business  was  going  forward,  and  give  additional  value 
by  his  presence  to  every  vote  for  Transome.  With  this  view 
he  got  a half-pint  bottle  filled  with  his  peculiar  kind  of 
“ sack,”  and  hastened  back  to  the  market-place,  feeling 
good-natured  and  patronizing  toward  all  political  parties, 
and  only  so  far  partial  as  his  family  bound  him  to  be. 

But  a disposition  to  concentrate  at  that  extremity  of  King 
Street  which  issued  in  the  market-place,  was  not  universal 
among  the  increasing  crowd.  Some  of  them  seemed  at- 
tracted toward  another  nucleus  at  the  other  extremity  of 
King  Street,  near  the  Seven  Stars.  This  was  Garstin’s  chief 
house,  where  his  committee  sat,  and  it  was  also  a point  which 
must  necessarily  be  passed  by  many  voters  entering  the  town 
on  the  eastern  side.  It  seemed  natural  that  the  mazarine 


270 


FELIX  HOLT, 


colors  should  be  visible  here,  and  that  Pack,  the  tall  “ shep- 
herd ” of  the  Sproxton  men,  should  be  seen  moving  to  and 
fro  where  there  would  be  a frequent  opportunity  of  cheer- 
ing the  voters  for  a gentleman  who  had  the  chief  share  in 
the  Sproxton  mines.  But  the  side  lanes  and  entries  out  of 
King  Street  were  numerous  enough  to  relieve  any  pressure 
if  there  was  need  to  make  way.  The  lanes  had  a distin- 
guished reputation.  Two  of  them  had  odors  of  brewing; 
one  had  a side  entrance  to  Mr.  Tiliot’s  wine  and  spirit 
vaults  ; up  another  Mr.  Muscat's  cheeses  were  frequently 
being  unloaded  ; and  even  some  of  the  entries  had  those 
cheerful  suggestions  of  plentiful  provision  which  were  among 
the  characteristics  of  Treby. 

Between  ten  and  eleven  the  voters  came  in  more  rapid 
succession,  and  the  whole  scene  became  spirited.  Cheers, 
sarcasms,  and  oaths,  which  seemed  to  have  a flavor  of  wit 
for  many  hearers,  were  beginning  to  be  reinforced  by  more 
practical  demonstrations,  dubiously  jocose.  There  was  a 
disposition  in  the  crowd  to  close  and  hem  in  the  way  for 
voters,  either  going  or  coming,  until  they  had  paid  some  kind 
of  toll.  It  was  difficult  to  see  who  set  the  example  in  the 
transition  from  words  to  deeds.  Some  thought  it  was  due 
to  Jacob  Cuff,  a Tory  charity-man,  who  was  a well-known 
ornament  of  the  pothouse,  and  gave  his  mind  much  leisure 
for  amusing  devices;  but  questions  of  origination  in  stir- 
ring periods  are  notoriously  hard  to  settle.  It  is  by  no 
means  necessary  in  human  things  that  there  should  be  only 
one  beginner.  This,  however,  is  certain — that  Mr.  Chubb, 
who  wished  it  to  be  noticed  that  he  voted  for  Garstin  solely, 
was  one  of  the  first  to  get  rather  more  notice  than  he  wished, 
and  that  he  had  his  hat  knocked  off  and  crushed  in  the  in- 
terest of  Debarry  by  Tories  opposed  to  coalition.  On  the 
other  hand,  some  said  it  was  at  the  same  time  that  Mr. 
Pink,  the  saddler,  being  stopped  on  his  way  and  made  to 
declare  that  he  was  going  to  vote  for  Debarry,  got  himself 
well  chalked  as  to  his  coat,  and  pushed  up  an  entry,  where 
he  remained  the  prisoner  of  terror  combined  with  the  want 
of  any  back  outlet,  and  never  gave  his  vote  that  day. 

The  second  Tory  joke  was  performed  with  much  gusto. 
The  majority  of  the  Transome  tenants  came  in  a body  from 
the  Ram  Inn,  with  Mr.  Banks,  the  bailiff,  leading  them. 
Poor  Goffe  was  the  last  of  them,  and  his  worn  melancholy 
look  and  forward-leaning  gait  gave  the  jocose  Cuff  the  no- 
tion that  the  farmer  was  not  what  he  called  “ compus.”  Mr. 


THE  RADICAL. 


2>]l 


Goffe  was  cut  off  from  his  companions  and  hemmed  in  : 
asked,  by  voices  with  hot  breath  close  to  his  ear,  how  many 
horses  he  had,  how  many  cows,  how  many  fat  pigs  ; then 
jostled  from  one  to  another,  who  made  trumpets  with  their 
hands,  and  deafened  him  by  telling  him  to  vote  for  Debarry. 
In  this  way  the  melancholy  Goffe  was  hustled  on  till  he  was 
at  the  polling-booth,  filled  with  confused  alarms,  the  imme- 
diate alarm  being  that  of  having  to  go  back  in  still  worse 
fashion  than  he  had  come.  Arriving  in  this  way  after  the 
other  tenants  had  left,  he  astonished  all  hearers  who  knew 
him  for  a tenant  of  the  Transomes  by  saying  “ Debarry,” 
and  was  jostled  back  trembling  amid  shouts  of  laughter. 

By  stages  of  this  kind  the  fun  grew  faster, and  was  in  danger 
of  getting  rather  serious.  The  Tories  began  to  feel  that  their 
jokes  were  returned  by  others  of  a heavier  sort,  and  that  the 
main  strength  of  the  crowd  was  not  on  the  side  of  sound  opin- 
ion, but  might  come  to  be  on  the  side  of  sound  cudgelling  and 
kicking.  The  navvies  and  pitmen  in  dishabille  seemed  to  be 
multiplying,  and  to  be  clearly  not  belonging  to  the  party  of 
Order.  The  shops  were  freely  resorted  to  for  various  forms  of 
playful  missiles  and  weapons;  and  news  came  to  the  magis- 
trates, watching  from  the  large  window  of  the  Marquis,  that 
a gentleman  coming  in  on  horseback  at  the  other  end  of  the 
street  to  vote  for  Garstin  had  had  his  horse  turned  round  and 
frightened  into  a headlong  gallop  out  of  it  again. 

Mr.  Crow  and  his  subordinates,  and  all  the  special  con- 
stables, felt  that  it  was  necessary  to  make  some  energetic 
effort,  or  else  every  voter  would  be  intimidated  and  the  poll 
must  be  adjourned.  The  rector  determined  to  get  on  horse- 
back and  go  amidst  the  crowd  with  the  constables;  and  he 
sent  a message  to  Mr.  Lingon,  who  was  at  the  Ram,  calling 
on  him  to  do  the  same.  “ Sporting  Jack”  was  sure 
the  good  fellows  meant  no  harm,  but  he  was  courageous 
enough  to  face  any  bodily  dangers,  and  rode  out  in  his 
brown  leggings  and  colored  bandana,  speaking  persuasively. 

It  was  nearly  twelve  o’clock  when  this  sally  was  made:  the 
constables  and  magistrates  tried  the  most  pacific  measures, 
and  they  seemed  to  succeed.  There  was  a rapid  thinning 
of  the  crowd:  the  most  boisterous  disappeared,  or  seemed 
to  do  so  by  becoming  quiet;  missiles  ceased  to  fly,  and  a 
sufficient  way  was  cleared  for  voters  along  King  Street.  The 
magistrates  returned  to  their  quarters,  and  the  constables 
took  convenient  posts  of  observation.  Mr.  Wace,  who  was 
one  of  Debarry’s  committee,  had  suggested  to  the  rector  that 


272 


FELIX  HOLT, 


it  might  be  wise  to  send  for  the  military  from  Duffield,  with 
orders  that  they  should  station  themselves  at  Hathercote, 
three  miles  off:  there  was  so  much  property  in  the  town  that 
it  would  be  better  to  make  it  secure  against  risks.  But  the 
rector  felt  that  this  was  not  the  part  of  a moderate  and  wise 
magistrate,  unless  the  signs  of  riot  recurred.  He  was  a 
brave  man,  and  fond  of  thinking  that  his  own  authority 
sufficed  for  the  maintenance  of  the  general  good  in  Treby. 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

Go  from  me.  Yet  I feel  that  I shall  stand 
Henceforward  in  thy  shadow.  Nevermore 
Alone  upon  the  threshold  of  my  door 
Of  individual  life,  I shall  command 
The  uses  of  my  soul,  nor  lift  my  hand 
Serenely  i.i  the  sunshine  as  before 
Without  the  sense  of  that  which  I forbore — 

Thy  touch  upon  the  palm.  The  widest  land 
Doom  takes  to  part  us,  leaves  thy  heart  in  mine 
With  pulses  that  beat  double.  What  I do 
And  what  I dream  include  thee,  as  the  wine 
Must  taste  of  its  own  grapes.  And  when  I sue 
..  God  for  myself,  He  hears  that  name  of  thine, 

And  sees  within  my  eyes  the  tears  of  two. 

— Mrs.  Browning* 

Felix  Holt,  seated  at  his  work  without  his  pupils,  who 
had  asked  for  a holiday  with  a notion  that  the  wooden 
booths  promised  some  sort  of  show,  noticed  about  eleven 
o’clock  that  the  noises  which  reached  him  from  the  main 
street  were  getting  more  and  more  tumultuous.  He  had 
long  seen  bad  auguries  for  this  election,  but,  like  all  people 
who  dread  the  prophetic  wisdom  that  ends  in  desiring  the 
fulfillment  of  its  own  evil  forebodings,  he  had  checked  him- 
self with  remembering  that,  though  many  conditions  were 
possible  which  might  bring  on  violence,  there  were  just  as 
many  which  might  avert  it.  There  would,  perhaps,  be  no 
other  mischief  than  what  he  was  already  certain  of.  With 
these  thoughts  he  sat  down  quietly  to  his  work,  meaning 
not  to  vex  his  soul  by  going  to  look  on  at  things  he  would 
fain  have  made  different  if  he  could.  But  he  was  of  a fiber 
that  vibrated  too  strongly  to  the  life  around  him  to  shut 
himself  away  in  quiet,  even  from  suffering  and  irremediable 
wrong.  As  the  noises  grew  louder,  and  wrought  more  and 
more  strongly  on  his  imagination,  he  was  obliged  to  lay  down 
his  delicate  wheel-work.  His  mother  came  from  her  turnip- 
paring,in  the  kitchen,  where  little  Job  was  her  companion,  to 
observe  that  they  must  be  killing  everybody  in  the  High 
Street,  and  that  the  election,  which  had  never  been  before  at 
Treby,  must  have  come  for  a judgment;  that  there  were 


THE  RADICAL. 


*73 

mercies  where  you  didn’t  look  for  them,  and  that  she  thanked 
God  in  His  wisdom  for  making  her  live  up  a back  street. 

Felix  snatched  his  cap  and  rushed  out.  But  when  he  got 
to  the  turning  into  the  market-place  the  magistrates  were 
already  on  horseback  there,  the  constables  were  moving 
about,  and  Felix  observed  that  there  was  no  strong  spirit  of 
resistance  to  them.  He  stayed  long  enough  to  see  the  par- 
tial dispersion  of  the  crowd  and  the  restoration  of  tolerable 
quiet,  and  then  went  back  to  Mrs.  Holt  to  tell  her  that  there 
was  nothing  to  fear  now  ; he  was  going  out  again,  and  she 
must  not  be  in  any  anxiety  at  his  absence.  She  might  set 
by  his  dinner  for  him. 

Felix  had  been  thinking  of  Esther  and  her  probable  alarm 
at  the  noises  that  must  have  reached  her  more  distinctly  than 
they  had  reached  him,  for  Malthouse  Yard  was  removed  but 
a little  way  from  the  main  street.  Mr.  Lyon  was  away  from 
home,  having  been  called  to  preach  charity  sermons  and 
attend  meetings  in  a distant  town  ; and  Esther,  with  the 
plaintive  Lyddy  for  her  sole  companion,  was  not  cheerfully 
circumstanced.  Felix  had  not  been  to  see  her  yet  since  her 
father’s  departure,  but  to-day  he  gave  way  to  new  reasons. 

“ Miss  Esther  was  in  the  garret,”  Lyddy  said,  trying  to 
see  what  was  going  on.  But  before  she  was  fetched  she 
came  running  down  the  stairs,  drawn  by  the  knock  at  the 
door,  which  had  shaken  the  small  dwelling. 

“ I am  so  thankful  to  see  you,”  she  said,  eagerly.  “ Pray 
come  in.” 

When  she  had  shut  the  parlor  door  behind  them,  Felix 
said,  “ I suspected  that  you  might  have  been  made  anxious 
by  the  noises.  I came  to  tell  you  that  things  are  quiet  now. 
Though,  indeed,  you  can  hear  that  they  are.” 

“ I was  frightened,”  said  Esther.  “ The  shouting  and 
roaring  of  rude  men  is  so  hideous.  It  is  a relief  to  me  that 
my  father  is  not  at  home — that  he  is  out  of  the  reach  of  any 
danger  he  might  have  fallen  into  if  he  had  been  here.  But 
I gave  you  credit  for  being  in  the  midst  of  the  danger,”  she 
added,  smiling,  with  a determination  not  to  show  much  feel- 
ing. “ Sit  down  and  tell  me  what  has  happened.” 

They  sat  down  at  the  extremities  of  the  old  black  sofa, 
and  Felix  said — 

“ To  tell  you  the  truth,  I had  shut  myself  up,  and  tried  to 
be  as  indifferent  to  the  election  as  if  I’d  been  one  of  the 
fishes  in  the  Lapp,  till  the  noises  got  too  strong  for  me.  But 
I only  saw  the  tail  end  of  the  disturbance.  The  poor  noisy 


274 


FELIX  HOLT, 


simpletons  seemed  to  give  way  before  the  magistrates  and  the 
constables.  I hope  nobody  has  been  much  hurt.  The  fear  is 
that  they  may  turn  out  again  by-and-by;  their  giving  way  so 
soon  may  not  be  altogether  a good  sign.  There’s  a great  num- 
ber of  heavy  fellows  in  the  town.  If  they  go  and  drink  more, 
the  last  end  may  be  worse  than  the  first.  However ” 

Felix  broke  off,  as  if  this  talk  was  futile,  clasped  his  hands 
behind  his  head,  and,  leaning  backward,  looked  at  Esther, 
who  was  looking  at  him. 

4<  May  I stay  here  a little  while  ?”  he  said,  after  a moment, 
which  seemed  long. 

“ Pray  do/’  said  Esther,  coloring.  To  relieve  herself  she 
took  some  work  and  bowed  her  head  over  her  stitching.  It 
was  in  reality  a little  heaven  to  her  that  Felix  was  there,  but 
she  saw  beyond  it — saw  that  by-and-by  he  would  be  gone,  and 
that  they  should  be  farther  on  their  way,  not  toward  meeting, 
but  parting.  His  will  was  impregnable.  He  was  a rock,  and 
she  was  no  more  to  him  than  the  white  clingingmist-cloud. 

“ I wish  I could  be  sure  that  you  see  things  just  as  I do,” 
he  said  abruptly,  after  a minute’s  silence. 

“ I am  sure  you  see  them  much  more  wisely  than  I do  ! ” 
said  Esther,  almost  bitterly,  without  looking  up. 

“ There  are  some  people  one  must  wish  to  judge  truly. 
Not  to  wish  it  would  be  mere  hardness.  I know  you  think 
I am  a man  without  feeling — at  least,  without  strong  affec- 
tions. You  think  I love  nothing  but  my  own  resolutions.” 

“ Suppose  I reply  in  the  same  sort  of  strain  ? ” said  Esther, 
with  a little  toss  of  the  head. 

“ How?” 

“ Why,  that  you  think  me  a shallow  woman,  incapable  of 
believing  what  is  best  in  you,  setting  down  everything  that 
is  too  high  for  me  as  a deficiency.” 

“ Don’t  parry  what  I say.  Answer  me.”  There  was  an 
expression  of  painful  beseeching  in  the  tone  with  which 
Felix  said  this.  Esther  let  her  work  fall  on  her  lap  and 
looked  at  him,  but  she  was  unable  to  speak. 

“I  want  you  to  tell  me — once — that  you  know  it  would 
be  easier  to  me  to  give  myself  up  to  loving  and  being  loved, 
as  other  men  do,  when  they  can,  than  to ” 

This  breaking-off  in  speech  was  something  quite  new  in 
Felix.  For  the  first  time  he  had  lost  his  self-possession,  and 
turned  his  eyes  away.  He  was  at  variance  with  himself.  He 
had  begun  what  he  felt  he  ought  not  to  finish. 

Esther,  like  a woman  as  she  was — a woman  waiting  for 


THE  RADICAL. 


275 


love,  never  able  to  ask  for  it — had  her  joy  in  these  signs  of 
her  power  ; but  they  made  her  generous,  not  chary,  as  they 
might  have  done  if  she  had  had  a pettier  disposition.  She 
said,  with  deep  yet  timid  earnestness — 

“ What  you  have  chosen  to  do  has  only  convinced  me  that 
your  love  would  be  the  better  worth  having.” 

All  the  finest  part  of  Esther's  nature  trembled  in  those 
words.  To  be  right  in  great  memorable  moments  is  perhaps 
the  thing  we  need  most  desire  for  ourselves. 

Felix  as  quick  as  lightning  turned  his  look  upon  her  again, 
and,  leaning  forward,  took  her  sweet  hand  and  held  it  to  his 
lips  some  moments  before  he  let  it  fall  again  and  raised  his 
head. 

“ We  shall  always  be  the  better  for  thinking  of  each  other,” 
he  said,  leaning  his  elbow  on  the  back  of  the  sofa,  and  sup- 
porting his  head  as  he  looked  at  her  with  calm  sadness.  “ This 
thing  can  never  come  to  me  twice  over.  It  is  my  knighthood. 
That  was  always  a business  of  great  cost.” 

He  smiled  at  her,  but  she  sat  biting  her  inner  lip  and 
pressing  her  hands  together.  She  desired  to  be  worthy  of 
what  she  reverenced  in  Felix,  but  the  inevitable  renuncia- 
tion was  too  difficult.  She  saw  herself  wandering  through 
the  future  weak  and  forsaken.  The  charming  sauciness  was 
all  gone  from  her  face,  but  the  memory  of  it  made  this  child- 
like dependent  sorrow  all  the  more  touching. 

“ Tell  me  what  you  would ” Felix  burst  out,  leaning 

nearer  to  her ; but  the  next  instant  he  started  up,  went  to 
the  table,  took  his  cap  in  his  hand  and  came  in  front  of  her. 

“ Good-bye,”  he  said,  very  gently,  not  daring  to  put  out 
his  hand.  But  Esther  put  up  hers  instead  of  speaking.  He 
just  pressed  it  and  then  went  away. 

She  heard  the  doors  close  behind  him,  and  felt  free  to  be 
miserable.  She  cried  bitterly.  If  she  might  have  married  Felix 
Holt,  she  could  have  been  a good  woman.  She  felt  no  trust 
that  she  could  ever  be  good  without  him. 

Felix  reproached  himself.  He  would  have  done  better  not 
to  speak  in  that  way.  But  the  prompting  to  which  he  had 
chiefly  listened  had  been  the  desire  to  prove  to  Esther  that 
he  set  a high  value  on  her  feelings.  He  could  not  help  seeing 
that  he  was  very  important  to  her  : and  he  was  too  simple 
and  sincere  a man  to  ape  a sort  of  humility  which  would  not 
have  made  him  any  the  better  if  he  had  possessed  it.  Such 
pretences  turn  our  lives  into  sorry  dramas.  And  Felix 
wished  Esther  to  know  that  her  love  was  dear  to  him  as  the 


FELIX  HOLT, 


*76 

beloved  dead  are  dear.  He  felt  that  they  must  not  marry — • 
that  they  would  ruin  each  other’s  lives.  But  he  had  longed 
for  her  to  know  fully  that  his  will  to  be  always  apart  from 
her  was  renunciation,  not  an  easy  preference.  In  this  he 
was  thoroughly  generous  ; and  yet,  now  some  subtle,  myste- 
rious conjuncture  of  impressions  and  circumstances  had 
made  him  speak,  he  questioned  the  wisdom  of  what  he  had 
done.  Express  confessions  give  definiteness  to  memories 
that  might  more  easily  melt  away  without ; and  Felix  felt 
for  Esther’s  pain  as  the  strong  soldier,  who  can  march  on 
hungering  without  fear  that  he  shall  faint,  feels  for  the  young 
brother — the  maiden-cheeked  conscript  whose  load  is  too 
heavy  for  him. 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

Mischief,  thou  art  afoot  .—Julius  Ccesar% 

Felix  could  not  go  home  again  immediately  after  quitting 
Esther.  He  got  out  of  the  town,  skirted  it  a little  while, 
looking  across  the  December  stillness  of  the  fields,  and  then 
re-entered  it  by  the  main  road  into  the  market-place,  think- 
ing that,  after  all,  it  would  be  better  for  him  to  look  at  the 
busy  doings  of  men  than  to  listen  in  solitude  to  the  voices 
within  him  ; and  he  wished  to  know  how  things  were  going  on. 

It  was  now  nearly  half-past  one,  and  Felix  perceived  that 
the  street  was  filling  with  more  than  the  previous  crowd.  By 
the  time  he  got  in  front  of  the  booths,  he  was  himself  so  sur- 
rounded by  men  who  were  being  thrust  hither  and  thither  that 
retreat  would  have  been  impossible  ; and  he  went  where  he 
was  obliged  to  go,  although  his  height  and  strength  were  above 
the  average  even  in  a crowd  where  there  were  so  many  heavy- 
armed workmen  used  to  the  pick-axe.  Almost  all  shabby- 
coated  Trebians  must  have  been  there,  but  the  entries  and 
back  streets  of  the  town  did  not  supply  the  mass  of  the  crowd  ; 
and  besides  the  rural  incomers,  both  of  the  more  decent  and 
the  rougher  sort,  Felix,  as  he  was  pushed  along,  thought  he 
discerned  here  and  there  men  of  that  keener  aspect  which  is 
only  common  in  manufacturing  towns. 

But  at  present  there  was  no  evidence  of  any  distinctly  mis- 
chievous design.  There  was  only  evidence  that  the  majority 
of  the  crowd  were  excited  with  drink,  and  that  their  action 
could  hardly  be  calculated  on  more  than  those  of  the  oxen 
and  pigs  congregated  amidst  hootings  and  pushings.  The 
confused  deafening  shouts,  the  incidental  fighting,  the  knock- 
ing over,  pulling  and  scuffling,  seemed  to  increase  every  mo- 


THE  RADICAL. 


277 


ment.  Such  of  the  constables  as  were  mixed  with  the  crowd 
were  quite  helpless  ; and  if  an  official  staff  was  seen  above 
the  heads,  it  moved  about  fitfully,  showing  as  little  sign  of  a 
guiding  hand  as  the  summit  of  a buoy  on  the  waves.  Doubt- 
less many  hurts  and  bruises  had  been  received,  but  no  one 
could  know  the  amount  of  injuries  that  were  widely  scattered. 

It  was  clear  that  no  more  voting  could  be  done, and  the  poll 
had  been  adjourned.  The  probabilities  of  serious  mischief 
had  grown  strong  enough  to  prevail  over  the  rector’s  objec- 
tion to  getting  military  . aid  within  reach  ; and  when  Felix  re- 
entered the  town,  a galloping  messenger  had  already  been 
dispatched  to  Duffield.  The  rector  wished  to  rideout  again, 
and  read  the  Riot  AcFfrom  a point  where  he  could  be  better 
heard  than  from  the  window  of  the  Marquis  ; but  Mr.  Crow, 
the  high  constable, who  had  returned  from  closer  observation, 
insisted  that  the  risk  would  be  too  great.  New  special  consta- 
bles had  been  sworn  in,  but  Mr.  Crow  said  prophetically  that 
if  once  mischief  began, the  mob  was  past  caring  for  constables. 

But  the  rector’s  voice  was  ringing  and  penetrating,  and 
when  he  appeared  on  the  narrow  balcony  and  read  the  form- 
ula, commanding  all  men  to  go  to  their  homes  or  about  their 
lawful  business,  there  was  a strong  transient  effect.  Every 
one  within  hearing  listened,  and  for  a few  moments  after  the 
final  words,  “ God  save  the  King  ! ” the  comparative  silence 
continued.  Then  the  people  began  to  move,  the  buzz  rose 
again,  and  grew,  and  grew,  till  it  turned  to  shouts  and  roar- 
ing as  before.  The  movement  was  that  of  a flood  hemmed 
in  ; it  carried  nobody  away.  Whether  the  crowd  would 
obey  the  order  to  disperse  themselves  within  an  hour,  was  a 
doubt  that  approached  nearer  to  a negative  certainty. 

Presently  Mr.  Crow,  who  called  himself  a tactician,  took  a 
well-intentioned  step,  which  went  far  to  fulfill  his  own  proph- 
ecy. He  had  arrived  with  the  magistrates  by  a back  way  at 
the  Seven  Stars,  and  here  again  the  Riot  Act  was  read  from 
a window,  with  much  the  same  result  as  before.  The  rector 
had  returned  by  the  same  way  to  the  Marquis,  as  the  head- 
quarters most  suited  for  administration,  but  Mr.  Crow  re- 
mained at  the  other  extremity  of  King  Street,  where  some 
awe-striking  presence  was  certainly  needed.  Seeing  that 
the  time  was  passing,  and  all  effect  from  the  voice  of  law 
had  disappeared,  he  showed  himself  at  an  upper  window, 
and  addressed  the  crowd,  telling  them  that  the  soldiers  had 
been  sent  for,  and  that  if  they  did  not  disperse  they  would 
have  cavalry  upon  them  instead  of  constables. 


FELIX  HOLT, 


278 

Mr.  Crow,  like  some  other  high  constables  more  celebrated 
in  history,  “enjoyed  a bad  reputation  ” ; that  is  to  say, 
he  enjoyed  many  things  which  caused  his  reputation  to  be 
bad,  and  he  was  anything  but  popular  in  Treby.  It  is  prob- 
able that  a pleasant  message  would  have  lost  something  from 
his  lips,  and  what  he  actually  said  was  so  unpleasant  that,  in- 
stead of  persuading  the  crowd,  it  appeared  to  enrage  them. 
Some  one,  snatching  a raw  potato  from  a sack  in  the  green- 
grocer’s shop  behind  him, threw  it  at  the  constable, and  hit  him 
on  the  mouth.  Straightway  raw  potatoes  and  turnips  were  flyin  g 
by  twenties  at  the  windows  of  the  Seven  Stars,  and  the  panes 
were  smashed.  Felix,  who  was  half-way  up  the  street,  heard  the 
voices  turning  to  a savage  roar, and  saw  a rush  toward  the  hard- 
ware shop,  which  furnished  more  effective  weapons  and  mis- 
siles than  turnips  and  potatoes.  Then  a cry  ran  along  that  the 
Tories  had  sent  for  the  soldiers,  and  if  those  among  the  mob 
who  called  themselves  Tories  as  willingly  as  anything  else 
were  disposed  to  take  whatever  called  itself  the  Tory  side, 
they  only  helped  the  main  result  of  reckless  disorder. 

But  there  were  proofs  that  the  predominant  will  of  the 
crowd  was  against  “ Debarry’s  men,”  and  in  favor  of  Tran- 
some.  Several  shops  were  invaded,  and  they  were  all  of 
them  “Tory  shops.”  The  tradesmen  who  could  do  so  now 
locked  their  doors  and  barricaded  their  windows  within. 
There  was  a panic  among  the  householders  of  this  hitherto 
peaceful  town,  and  a general  anxiety  for  the  military  to  ar- 
rive. The  rector  was  in  painful  anxiety  on  this  head;  he  had 
sent  out  two  messengers  as  secretly  as  he  could  toward  Hather- 
cote,to  order  the  soldiers  to  ride  straight  to  the  town  ; but  he 
feared  that  these  messengers  had  been  somehow  intercepted. 

It  was  three  o’clock  ; more  than  an  hour  had  elapsed  since 
the  reading  of  the  Riot  Act.  The  rector  of  Treby  Magna 
wrote  an  indignant  message  and  sent  it  to  the  Ram,  to  Mr. 
Lingon,  the  rector  of  Little  Treby,  saying  that  there 
was  evidently  a Radical  animus  in  the  mob,  and  that  Mr. 
Transome’s  party  should  hold  themselves  peculiarly  respon- 
sible. Where  was  Mr.  Jermyn  ? 

Mr.  Lingon  replied  that  he  was  going  himself  out  toward 
Duffield  to  see  after  the  soldiers.  As  for  Jermyn,  he  was 
not  that  attorney’s  sponsor  ; he  believed  that  Jermyn  was 
gone  away  somewhere  on  business — to  fetch  voters. 

A serious  effort  was  now  being  made  by  all  the  civil  force 
at  command.  The  December  day  would  soon  be  passing 
into  evening,  and  all  disorder  would  be  aggravated  by  ob- 


THE  RADICAL. 


279 


scurity.  The  horrors  of  fire  were  as  likely  to  happen  as  any 
minor  evil.  The  constables,  as  many  of  them  as  could  do  so, 
armed  themselves  with  carbines  and  sabres  ; all  the  respect- 
able inhabitants  who  had  any  courage,  prepared  themselves 
to  struggle  for  order  ; and  many  felt  with  Mr.  Wace  and  Mr. 
Tiliot  that  the  nearest  duty  was  to  defend  the  breweries  and 
the  spirit  and  wine  vaults,  where  the  property  was  of  a sort 
at  once  most  likely  to  be  threatened  and  most  dangerous  in 
its  effects.  The  rector,  with  fine  determination,  got  on 
horseback  again,  as  the  best  mode  of  leading  the  constables, 
who  could  only  act  efficiently  in  a close  body.  By  his 
direction  the  column  of  armed  men  avoided  the  main  street, 
and  made  their  way  along  a back  road,  that  they  might 
occupy  the  two  chief  lanes  leading  into  the  wine-vaults  of 
the  brewery,  and  bear  down  on  the  crowd  from  these  open- 
ings, which  it  was  especially  desirable  to  guard. 

Meanwhile  Felix  Holt  had  been  hotly  occupied  in  King 
Street.  After  the  first  window-smashing  at  the  Seven  Stars, 
there  was  a sufficient  reason  for  damaging  that  inn  to  the 
utmost.  The  destructive  spirit  tends  toward  completeness; 
and  any  object  once  maimed  or  otherwise  injured,  is  as 
readily  doomed  by  unreasoning  men  as  by  unreasoning  boys. 
Also  the  Seven  Stars  sheltered  Spratt ; and  to  some  Sprox- 
ton  men  in  front  of  that  inn  it  was  exasperating  that  Spratt 
should  be  safe  and  sound  on  a day  when  blows  were  going, 
and  justice  might  be  rendered.  And  again,  there  was"  the 
general  desirableness  of  being  inside  a public  house. 

Felix  had  at  last  been  willingly  urged  on  to  this  spot.- 
Hitherto  swayed  by  the  crowd,  he  had  been  able  to  do  noth- 
ing but  defend  himself  and  keep  on  his  legs  ; but  he  foresaw 
that  the  people  would  burst  into  the  inn  ; he  heard  cries  of 
“ Spratt ! ’’  “ Fetch  him  out!”  “We’ll  pitch  him  out!” 
“ Pummel  him  ! ” It  was  not  unlikely  that  lives  might  be 
sacrificed  ; and  it  was  intolerable  to  Felix  to  be  witnessing 
the  blind  outrages  of  this  mad  crowd,  and  yet  be  doing  noth- 
ing to  counteract  them.  Even  some  vain  effort  would  satisfy 
him  better  than  mere  gazing.  Within  the  walls  of  the  inn 
he  might  save  some  one.  He  went  in  with  a miscellaneous 
set,  who  dispersed  themselves  with  different  objects — some 
to  the  tap- room, and  to  search  for  the  cellar:  some  up-stairs  to 
search  in  all  the  rooms  for  Spratt,  or  any  one  else,  perhaps, 
as  a temporary  scapegoat  for  Spratt.  Guided  by  the  screams 
of  women,  Felix  at  last  got  to  a high  up-stairs  passage,  where 
the  landlady  and  some  of  her  servants  were  running  away  in 


28o 


FELIX  HOLT, 


helpless  terror  from  two  or  three  half-tipsy  men,  who  had 
been  emptying  a spirit  decanter  in  the  bar.  Assuming  the 
tone  of  a mob-leader  he  cried  out,  “ Here,  boys,  here’s  better 
fun  this  way — come  with  me  ! ” and  drew  the  men  back  with 
him  along  the  passage.  They  reached  the  lower  staircase  in 
time  to  see  the  unhappy  Spratt  being  dragged,  coatless  and 
screaming,  down  the  steps.  No  one  at  present  was  striking  or 
kicking  him  ; it  seemed  as  if  he  were  being  reserved  for  pun- 
ishment on  some  wider  area,  where  the  satisfaction  might  be 
more  generally  shared.  Felix  followed  close,  determined, if  he 
could,  to  rescue  both  assailers  and  assaulted  from  the  worst 
consequences.  His  mind  was  busy  with  possible  devices. 

Down  the  stairs,  out  along  the  stones  through  the  gateway, 
Spratt  was  dragged  as  a mere  heap  of  linen  and  cloth  rags. 
When  he  was  got  outside  the  gateway,  there  was  an  immense 
hooting  and  roaring,  though  many  there  had  no  grudge  against 
him,  and  only  guessed  that  others  had  the  grudge.  But 
this  was  the  narrower  part  of  the  street  ; it  widened  as  it  went 
onward,  and  Spratt  was  dragged  on,  his  enemies  crying, 
“ We’ll  make  a ring — we’ll  see  how  frightened  he  looks  ! ” 

“ Kick  him,  and  have  done  with  him,”  Felix  heard  another 
say.  “ Let’s  go  fo  Tiliot’s  vaults — there’s  more  gin  there  ! ” 

Here  were  two  hideous  threats.  In  dragging  Spratt  on- 
ward the  people  were  getting  very  near  to  the  lane  leading 
up  to  Tiliot’s.  Felix  kept  as  close  as  he  could  to  the  threat- 
ened victim.  He  had  thrown  away  his  own  stick,  and  car- 
ried a bludgeon  which  had  escaped  from  the  hands  of  an 
invader  at  the  Seven  Stars  ; his  head  was  bare  ; he  looked, 
to  undiscerning  eyes,  like  a leading  spirit  of  the  mob.  In 
this  condition  he  was  observed  by  several  persons  looking 
anxiously  from  their  upper  windows,  and  finally  observed  to 
push  himself, by  violent  efforts, close  behind  the  dragged  man. 

Meanwhile,  the  foremost  among  the  constables,  who,  com- 
ing by  the  back  way,  had  now  reached  the  opening  of 
Tiliot’s  lane,  discerned  that  the  crowd  had  a victim  amongst 
them.  One  spirited  fellow,  named  Tucker,  who  was  a reg- 
ular constable,  feeling  that  no  time  was  to  be  lost  in  medi- 
tation, called  on  his  neighbor  to  follow  him,  and  with  a 
sabre  that  happened  to  be  his  weapon,  got  away  for  himself 
where  he  was  not  expected,  by  dint  of  quick  resolution.  At 
this  moment  Spratt  had  been  let  go — had  been  dropped,  in 
fact,  almost  lifeless  with  terror,  on  the  street  stones,  and  the 
men  round  him  had  retreated  for  a little  space,  as  if  to 
amuse  themselves  with  looking  at  him.  Felix  had  taken 


THE  RADICAL. 


281 

his  opportunity  ; and  seeing  the  first  step  toward  a plan  he 
was  bent  on,  he  sprang  forward  close  to  the  cowering  Spratt. 
As  he  did  this,  Tucker  had  cut  his  way  to  the  spot,  and 
imagining  Felix  to  be  the  destined  executioner  of  Spratt — 
for  any  discrimination  of  Tucker’s  lay  in  his  muscles  rather 
than  his  eyes — he  rushed  up  to  Felix,  meaning  to  collar  him 
and  throw  him  down.  But  Felix  had  rapid  senses  and 
quick  thoughts  ; he  discerned  the  situation  ; he  chose  be- 
tween two  evils.  Quick  as  lightning  he  frustrated  the  con- 
stable, fell  upon  him,  and  tried  to  master  his  weapon.  In 
the  struggle,  which  was  watched  without  interference,  the 
constable  fell  undermost,  and  Felix  got  his  weapon.  He 
started  up  with  the  bare  sabre  in  his  hand.  The -crowd 
round  him  cried  “ Hurray  ! ” with  a sense  that  he  was  on 
their  side  against  the  constable.  Tucker  did  not  rise  im- 
mediately; but  Felix  did  not  imagine  that  he  was  much  hurt. 

“ Don’t  touch  him  ! ” said  Felix.  “ Let  him  go.  Here, 
bring  Spratt,  and  follow  me.” 

Felix  was  perfectly  conscious  that  he  was  in  the  midst  of 
a tangled  business.  But  he  had  chiefly  before  his  imagina- 
tion the  horrors  that  might  come  if  the  mass  of  wild  chaotic 
desires  and  impulses  around  him  were  not  diverted  from  any 
further  attacks  on  places  where  they  would  get  in  the  midst 
of  intoxicating  and  inflammable  materials.  It  was  not  a 
moment  in  which  a spirit  like  his  could  calculate  the  effect 
of  misunderstanding  as  to  himself  : nature  never  makes  men 
who  are  at  once  energetically  sympathetic  and  minutely  cal- 
culating. He  believed  he  had  the  power  and  was  resolved 
to  try,  to  carry  the  dangerous  mass  out  of  mischief  till  the 
military  came  to  awe  them — which  he  supposed,  from  Mr. 
Crow’s  announcement  a long  time  ago,  must  be  a near  event. 

He  was  followed  the  more  willingly,  because  Tiliot’s  lane 
was  seen  by  the  hindmost  to  be  now  defended  by  constables, 
some  of  whom  had  firearms  ; and  where  there  is  no  strong 
counter-movement,  any  proposition  to  do  something  that  is 
unspecified  stimulates  stupid  curiosity.  To  many  of  the 
Sproxton  men  who  were  within  sight  of  him,  Felix  was 
known  personally,  and  vaguely  believed  to  be  a man  who 
meant  many  queer  things,  not  at  all  of  an  everyday  kind. 
Pressing  along  like  a leader,  with  the  sabre  in  his  hand,  and 
inviting  them  to  bring  on  Spratt,  there  seemed  a better  rea- 
son for  following  him  than  for  doing  anything  else.  A man 
with  a definite  will  and  an  energetic  personality  acts  as  a 
sort  of  flag  to  draw  and  bind  together  the  foolish  units  of  a 


282 


FELIX  HOLT, 


mob.  It  was  on  this  sort  of  influence  over  men  whose  men- 
tal state  was  a mere  medley  of  appetites  and  confused  im- 
pressions, that  Felix  had  dared  to  count.  He  hurried  them 
along  with  words  of  invitation,  telling  them  to  hold  up 
Spratt  and  not  drag  him  ; and  those  behind  followed  him, 
with  a growing  belief  that  he  had  some  design  worth  know- 
ing, while  those  in  front  were  urged  along  partly  by  the 
same  notion,  partly  by  the  sense  that  there  was  a motive  in 
those  behind  them,  not  knowing  what  the  motive  was.  It 
was  that  mixture  of  pushing  forward  and  being  pushed  for- 
ward, which  is  a brief  history  of  most  human  things. 

What  Felix  really  intended  to  do,  was  to  get  the  crowd  by 
the  nearest  way  out  of  the  town,  and  induce  them  to  skirt  it 
on  the  north  side  with  him,  keeping  up  in  them  the  idea  that 
he  was  leading  them  to  execute  some  stratagem,  by  which 
they  would  surprise  something  worth  attacking,  and  circum- 
vent the  constables  who  were  defending  the  lanes.  In  the 
meantime  he  trusted  that  the  soldiers  would  have  arrived, 
and  with  this  sort  of  mob  which  was  animated  by  no  real 
political  passion  or  fury  against  social  distinctions,  it  was  in 
the  highest  degree  unlikely  that  there  would  be  any  resist- 
ance to  a military  force.  The  presence  of  fifty  soldiers  would 
probably  be  enough  to  scatter  the  rioting  hundreds.  How  nu- 
merous the  mob  was, no  one  ever  knew  : many  inhabitants  af- 
terward were  ready  to  swear  that  there  must  have  been  at  least 
two  thousand  rioters.  Felix  knew  he  was  incurring  great  risks; 
but  “ his  blood  was  up  we  hardly  allow  enough  in  common 
life  . for  the  results  of  that  enkindled  passionate  enthusiasm 
which,  under  other  conditions,  makes  world-famous  deeds. 

He  was  making  for  a point  where  the  street  branched  off 
on  one  side  toward  a speedy  opening  between  hedgerows, 
on  the  other  toward  the  shabby  wideness  of  Pollard’s  End. 
At  this  forking  of  the  street  there  was  a large  space,  in  the 
centre  of  which  there  was  a small  stone  platform, mounting  by 
three  steps,  with  an  old  green  finger-post  upon  it.  Felix  went 
straight  to  this  platform  and  stepped  upon  it,  crying  “Halt!  ” 
in  a loud  voice  to  the  men  behind  and  before  him,  and  calling 
to  those  who  held  Spratt  to  bring  him  there.  All  came  to  a 
stand  with  faces  toward  the  finger-post,  and  perhaps  for  the 
first  time  the  extremities  of  the  crowd  got  a definite  idea  that 
a man  with  a sabre  in  his  hand  was  taking  the  command. 

“ Now  ! ” said  Felix,  when  Spratt  had  been  brought  to  the 
stone  platform,  faint  and  trembling,  “has  anybody  got  cord  ? 
if  not,  handkerchiefs  knotted  fast ; give  them  to  me,” 


THE  RADICAL. 


283 


He  drew  out  his  own  handkerchief,  and  two  or  three 
others  were  mustered  and  handed  to  him.  He  ordered  them 
to  be  knotted  together,  while  curious  eyes  were  fixed  on 
him.  Was  he  going  to  have  Spratt  hanged?  Felix  kept  fast 
hold  of  his  weapon,  and  ordered  others  to  act. 

“ Now,  put  it  round  his  waist,  wind  his  arms  in,  draw 
them  a little  backward — so  ! and  tie  it  fast  on  the  other  side 
of  the  post.” 

When  that  was  done,  Felix  said,  imperatively  : 

“ Leave  him  there — we  shall  come  back  to  him  ; let  us 
make  haste  ; march  along,  lads  ! Up  Park  Street  and  down 
Hobb’s  Lane.” 

It  was  the  best  chance  he  could  think  of  for  saving 
Spratt’s  life.  And  he  succeeded.  The  pleasure  of  seeing 
the  helpless  man  tied  up  sufficed  for  the  moment,  if  there 
were  any  who  had  ferocity  enough  to  count  much  on  coming 
back  to  him.  Nobody’s  imagination  represented  the  cer- 
tainty that  some  one  out  of  the  houses  at  hand  would  soon 
come  and  untie  him  when  he  was  left  alone. 

And  the  rioters  pushed  up  Park  Street,  a noisy  stream, 
with  Felix  still  in  the  midst  of  them,  though  he  was  laboring 
hard  to  get  his  way  to  the  front.  He  wished  to  determine 
the  course  of  the  crowd  along  a by-road  called  Hobb’s 
Lane,  which  would  have  taken  them  to  the  other — the  Duf- 
field  end  of  the  town.  He  urged  several  of  the  men  round 
him,  one  of  whom  was  no  less  a person  than  the  big  Dredge, 
our  old  Sproxton  acquaintance,  to  get  forward,  and  be  sure 
that  all  the  fellows  would  go  down  the  lane,  else  they  would 
spoil  sport.  Hitherto  Felix  had  been  successful,  and  he 
had  gone  along  with  an  unbroken  impulse.  But  soon  some- 
thing occurred  which  brought  with  a terrible  shock  the 
sense  that  his  plan  might  turn  out  to  be  as  mad  as  all  bold 
projects  are  seen  to  be  when  they  have  failed. 

Mingled  with  the  more  headlong  and  half-drunken  crowd 
there  were  some  sharp-visaged  men  who  loved  the  irration- 
ality of  riots  for  something  else  than  its  own  sake,  and  who 
at  present  were  not  so  much  the  richer  as  they  desired  to 
be,  for  the  pains  they  had  taken  in  coming  to  the  Treby 
election,  induced  by  certain  prognostics  gathered  at  Duffield 
on  the  nomination-day  that  there  might  be  the  conditions 
favorable  to  that  confusion  which  was  always  a harvest-time. 
It  was  known  to  some  of  these  sharp  men  that  Park  Street 
led  out  toward  the  grand  house  of  Treby  Manor,  which  was 
as  good — nay,  better,  for  their  purpose  than  the  bank.  While 


284 


FELIX  HOLT, 


Felix  was  entertaining  Ins  ardent  purpose,  these  other  sons 
of  Adam  were  entertaining  another  ardent  purpose  of  their 
peculiar  sort,  and  the  moment  had  come  when  they  were  to 
have  their  triumph. 

From  the  front  ranks  backward  toward  Felix  there  ran  a 
new  summons — a new  invitation. 

“ Let  us  go  to  Treby  Manor  ! ” 

From  that  moment  Felix  was  powerless;  a new  definite 
suggestion  overrode  his  vaguer  influence.  There  was  a 
determined  rush  past  Hobl/s  Lane,  and  not  down  it.  Felix 
was  carried  along  too.  He  did  not  know  whether  to  wish 
the  contrary.  Once  on  the  road,  out  of  town,  with  openings 
into  fields  and  with  the  wide  park  at  hand,  it  would  have 
been  easy  to  liberate  himself  from  the  crowd.  At  first  it 
seemed  to  him  the  better  part  to  do  this,  and  to  get  back  to 
the  town  as  fast  as  he  could,  in  the  hope  of  finding  the  mili- 
tary and  getting  a detachment  to  come  and  save  the  Manor. 
But  he  reflected  that  the  course  of  the  mob  had  been  suffi- 
ciently seen,  and  that  there  were  plenty  of  people  in  Park 
Street  to  carry  the  information  faster  than  he  could.  It 
seemed  more  necessary  that  he  should  secure  the  presence 
of  some  help  for  the  family  at  the  Manor  by  going  there 
himself.  The  Debarrys  were  not  of  the  class  of  people  he 
was  wont  to  be  anxious  about  ; but  Felix  Holt’s  conscience 
was  alive  to  the  accusation  that  any  danger  they  might  be 
in  now  was  brought  on  by  a deed  of  his.  In  these  moments 
of  bitter  vexation  and  disappointment,  it  did  occur  to  him 
that  very  unpleasant  consequences  might  be  hanging  over 
him  of  a kind  quite  different  from  inward  dissatisfaction  ; 
but  it  was  useless  now  to  think  of  averting  such  conse- 
quences. As  he  was  pressed  along  with  the  multitude  into 
Treby  Park,  his  very  movement  seemed  to  him  only  an  image 
of  the  day’s  fatalities,  in  which  the  multitudinous  small 
wickednesses  of  small  selfish  ends,  really  undirected  toward 
any  larger  result,  had  issued  in  widely-shared  mischief  that 
might  yet  be  hideous. 

The  light  was  declining  : already  the  candles  shone  through 
many  windows  of  the  Manor.  Already  the  foremost  part  of 
the  crowd  had  burst  into  the  offices,  and  adroit  men  were 
busy  in  the  right  places  to  find  plate,  after  setting  others  to 
force  the  butler  into  unlocking  the  cellars  ; and  Felix  had 
only  just  been  able  to  force  his  way  on  to  the  front  terrace, 
with  the  hope  of  getting  to  the  rooms  where  he  would  find 
the  ladies  of  the  household  and  comfort  them  with  the  assur- 


THE  RADICAL. 


285 

ance  that  rescue  must  soon  come,  when  the  sound  of  horses' 
feet  convinced  him  that  the  rescue  was  nearer  than  he  had 
expected.  Just  as  he  heard  the  horses,  he  had  approached 
the  large  window  of  a room  where  a brilliant  light  suspended 
from  the  ceiling  showed  him  a group  of  women  clinging 
together  in  terror.  Others  of  the  crowd  were  pushing  their 
way  up  the  terrace-steps  and  gravel-slopes  at  various  points. 
Hearing  the  horses,  he  kept  his  post  in  front  of  the  window, 
and,  motioning  with  his  sabre,  cried  out  to  the  oncomers, 
“ Keep  back  ! I hear  the  soldiers  coming.”  Some  scrambled 
back,  some  paused  automatically. 

The  louder  and  louder  sound  of  the  hoofs  changed  its 
pace  and  distribution.  “ Halt ! Fire  ! ” Bang  ! bang  ! bang  ! 
— came  deafening  the  ears  of  the  men  on  the^terrace. 

Before  they  had  time  or  nerve  to  move,  there  was  a rush- 
ing sound  closer  to  them — again  “ Fire  ! ” a bullet  whizzed, 
and  passed  through  Felix  Holt's  shoulder — the  shoulder  of 
the  arm  that  held  the  naked  weapon  which  shone  in  the  light 
from  the  window. 

Felix  fell.  The  rioters  ran  confusedly,  like  terrified  sheep. 
Some  of  the  soldiers,  turning,  drove  them  along  with  the  flat 
of  their  swords.  The  greater  difficulty  was  to  clear  the 
invaded  offices. 

The  rector,  who  with  another  magistrate  and  several  other 
gentlemen  on  horseback  had  accompanied  the  soldiers,  now 
j umped  on  to  the  terrace, and  hurried  to  the  ladies  of  the  family. 

Presently  there  was  a group  round  Felix,  who  had  fainted, 
and,  reviving,  had  fainted  again.  He  had  had  little  food  during 
the  day,  and  had  been  pverwrought.  Two  of  the  group  were 
civilians,  but  only  one  of  them  knew  Felix,  the  other  being 
a magistrate  not  resident  in  Treby.  The  one  who  knew 
Felix  was  Mr.  John  Johnson,  whose  zeal  for  the  public  peace 
had  brought  him  from  Duffield  when  he  heard  that  the  sol- 
diers were  summoned. 

“ I know  this  man  very  well,”  said  Mr.  Johnson.  “ He  is 
a dangerous  character — quite  revolutionary.” 

It  was  a weary  night  ; and  the  next  day,  Felix,  whose 
wound  was  declared  trivial,  was  lodged  in  Loamford  Jail. 
There  were  three  charges  against  him  : that  he  had  assaulted 
a constable,  that  he  had  committed  manslaughter  (Tucker 
was  dead  from  spinal  concussion),  and  that  he  had  led  a 
riotous  onslaught  on  a dwelling-house. 

Four  other  men  were  committed  : one  of  them  for  pos- 
sessing himself  of  a gold  cup  with  the  Debarry  arms  on  it  ; 


286 


Felix  holt, 


the  three  others,  one  of  whom  was  the  collier  Dredge,  for 
riot  and  assault. 

That  morning  Treby  town  was  no  longer  in  terror  ; but  it 
was  in  much  sadness.  Other  men,  more  innocent  than  the 
hated  Spratt,  were  groaning  under  severe  bodily  injuries. 
And  poor  Tucker’s  corpse  was  not  the  only  one  that  had 
been  lifted  from  the  pavement.  It  is  true  that  none  grieved 
much  for  the  other  dead  man,  unless  it  be  grief  to  say, 
“ Poor  old  fellow  ! ” He  had  been  trampled  upon,  doubtless, 
where  he  fell  drunkenly,  near  the  entrance  of  the  Seven 
Stars.  This  second  corpse  was  old  Tommy  Trounsem,  the 
bill-sticker — otherwise  Thomas  Transome,  the  last  of  a very 
old  family-line. 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

The  fields  are  hoary  with  December’s  frost, 

I too  am  hoary  with  the  chills  of  age. 

But  through  the  fields  and  through  the  untrodden  woods 
Is  rest  and  stillness — only  in  my  neart 
The  pall  of  winter  shrouds  a throbbing  life. 

A week  after  that  Treby  riot,  Harold  Transome  was  at 
Transome  Court.  He  had  returned  from  a hasty  visit  to 
town  to  keep  his  Christmas  at  this  delightful  country  home, 
not  in  the  best  Christmas  spirits.  He  had  lost  the  election ; 
but  if  that  had  been  his  only  annoyance,  he  had  good  humor 
and  good  sense  enough  to  have  borne  it  as  well  as  most  men, 
and  to  have  paid  the  eight  or  nine  thousand,  which  had 
been  the  price  of  ascertaining  that  he  was  not  to  sit  in  the 
next  Parliament,  without  useless  grumbling.  But  the 
disappointments  of  life  can  never,  any  more  than  its 
pleasures,  be  estimated  singly  ; and  the  healthiest  and 
most  agreeable  of  men  is  exposed  to  that  coincidence  of 
various  vexations,  each  heightening  the  effect  of  the  other, 
which  may  produce  in  him  something  corresponding  to  the 
spontaneous  and  externally  unaccountable  moodiness  of  the 
morbid  and  disagreeable. 

Harold  might  not  have  grieved  much  at  a small  riot  in 
Treby,  even  if  it  had  caused  some  expenses  to  fall  on  the 
county  ; t>ut  the  turn  which  the  riot  had  actually  taken  was 
a bitter  morsel  for  rumination,  on  more  grounds  than  one. 
However  the  disturbances  had  arisen  and  been  aggravated 
— and  probably  no  one  knew  the  whole  truth  on  these  points 
— the  conspicuous,  gravest  incidents  had  all  tended  to  throw 
the  blame  on  the  Radical  party,  that  is  to  say,  on  Transome 
and  on  Transome’s  agents  ; and  so  far  the  candidateship 
and  its  results  had  done  Harold  dishonor  in  the  county  : 


THE  RADICAL. 


287 


precisely  the  opposite  effect  to  that  which  was  a dear  object 
of  his  ambition.  More  than  this,  Harold’s  conscience  was 
active  enough  to  be  very  unpleasantly  affected  by  what  had 
befallen  Felix  Holt.  His  memory,  always  good,  was  par- 
ticularly vivid  in  its  retention  of  Felix  Holt’s  complaint  to 
him  about  the  treating  of  the  Sproxton  men,  and  of  the  sub- 
sequent irritating  scene  in  Jermyn’s  office,  when  the  person- 
age with  the  inauspicious  name  of  Johnson  had  expounded 
to  him  the  impossibility  of  revising  an  electioneering  scheme 
once  begun,  and  of  turning  your  vehicle  back  when  it  had 
already  begun  to  roll  downhill.  Remembering  Felix  Holt’s 
words  of  indignant  warning  about  hiring  men  with  drink  in 
them  to  make  a noise,  Harold  could  not  resist  the  urgent 
impression  that  the  offences  for  which  Felix  was  committed 
were  fatalities,  not  brought  about  by  any  willing  co-opera- 
tion of  his  with  the  noisy  rioters,  but  arising  probably  from 
some  rather  ill-judged  efforts  to  counteract  their  violence. 
And  this  urgent  impression,  which  insisted  on  growing  into 
a conviction,  became  in  one  of  its  phases  an  uneasy  sense 
that  he  held  evidence  which  would  at  once  tend  to  exonerate 
Felix  and  to  place  himself  and  his  agents  in  anything  but  a 
desirable  light.  It  was  likely  that  some  one  else  could  give 
equivalent  evidence  in  favor  of  Felix — the  little  talkative 
Dissenting  preacher,  for  example  : but,  anyhow,  the  affair 
with  the  Sproxton  men  would  be  ripped  open  and  made  the 
worst  of  by  the  opposite  parties.  The  man  who  has  failed 
in  the  use  of  some  indirectness,  is  helped  very  little  by  the 
fact  that  his  rivals  are  men  to  whom  that  indirectness  is  a 
something  human,  very  far  from  being  alien.  There  remains 
this  grand  distinction,  that  he  has  failed,  and  that  the  jet  of 
light  is  thrown  entirely  on  his  misdoings. 

In  this  matter  Harold  felt  himself  a victim.  Could  he 
hinder  the  tricks  of  his  agents?  In  this  particular  case  he 
had  tried  to  hinder  them,  and  had  tried  in  vain.  He  had 
not  loved  the  two  agents  in  question,  to  begin  with  ; and  now 
at  this  later  stage  of  events  he  was  more  innocent  than  ever 
of  bearing  them  anything  but  the  most  sincere  ill-will.  He 
was  more  utterly  exasperated  with  them  than  he  would 
probably  have  been  if  his  one  great  passion  had  been  for 
public  virtue.  Jermyn,  with  his  John  Johnson,  had  added 
this  ugly,  dirty  business  of  the  Treby  election  to  all  the 
long-accumulating  fist  of  offences,  which  Harold  was 
resolved  to  visit  on  him  to  the  utmost.  He  had  seen  some 
handbills  carrying  the  insinuation  that  there  was  a discredit- 


28$ 


FELIX  HOLT, 


able  indebtedness  to  Jermyn  on  the  part  of  the  Transomes. 
If  any  such  notions  existed  apart  from  electioneering  slander, 
there  was  all  the  more  reason  for  letting  the  world  see  Jermyn 
severely  punished  for  abusing  his  power  over  the  family 
affairs,  and  tampering  with  the  family  property.  And  the 
world  certainly  should  see  this  with  as  little  delay  as  possible. 
The  cool,  confident,  assuming  fellow  should  be  bled  to  the 
last  drop  in  compensation,  and  all  connection  with  him  be 
finally  got  rid  of.  Now  that  the  election  was  done  with, 
Harold  meant  to  devote  himself  to  private  affairs,  till  every- 
thing lay  in  complete  order  under  his  supervision. 

This  morning  he  was  seated  as  usual  in  his  private  room, 
which  had  now  been  handsomely  fitted  up  for  him.  It  was 
but  the  third  morning  after  the  first  Christmas  he  had  spent 
in  his  English  home  for  fifteen  years,  and  the  home  looked 
like  an  eminently  desirable  one.  The  white  frost  was  now 
lying  on  the  broad  lawn,  on  the  many-formed  leaves  of  the 
evergreens  and  on  the  giant  trees  at  a distance.  Logs  of 
dry  oak  blazed  on  the  hearth  ; the  carpet  was  like  warm 
moss  under  his  feet ; he  had  breakfasted  just  according  to 
his  taste,  and  he  had  the  interesting  occupations  of  a large 
proprietor  to  fill  the  morning.  All  through  the  house  now 
steps  were  noiseless  on  carpets  or  on  fine  matting  ; there 
was  warmth  in  hall  and  corridors  ; there  were  servants 
enough  to  do  everything,  and  to  do  it  at  the  right  time. 
Skilful  Dominic  was  always  at  hand  to  meet  his  master’s 
demands,  and  his  bland  presence  diffused  itself  like  a smile 
over  the  household,  infecting  the  gloomy  English  mind  with 
the  belief  that  life  was  easy,  and  making  his  real  pre- 
dominance seem  as  soft  and  light  as  a down  quilt.  Old 
•Mr.  Transome  had  gathered  new  courage  and  strength  since 
little  Harry  and  Dominic  had  come,  and  since  Harold  had 
insisted  on  his  taking  drives.  Mrs.  Transome  herself  was 
seen  on  a fresh  background  with  a gown  of  rich  new  stuff. 
And  if,  in  spite  of  this,  she  did  not  seem  happy,  Harold 
either  did  not  observe  it,  or  kindly  ignored  it  as  the  neces- 
sary frailty  of  elderly  women  whose  lives  have  had  too  much 
of  dullness  and  privation.  Our  minds  get  tricks  and  attitudes 
as  our  bodies  do,  thought  Harold,  and  age  stiffens  them  into 
unalterableness.  “ Poor  mother ! I confess  I should  not 
like  to  be  an  elderly  woman  myself.  One  requires  a good 
deal  of  the  purring  cat  for  that,  or  else  of  % the  loving  gran- 
dame.  I wish  she  would  take  more  to  little  Harry.  I sup- 
pose she  has  her  suspicions  about  the  lad’s  mother,  and  is 


THE  RADICAL. 


289 


as  rigid  in  those  matters  as  in  her  Toryism.  However,  I do 
what  I can  ; it  would  be  difficult  to  say  what  there  is  wanting 
to  her  in  the  way  of  indulgence  and  luxury  to  make  up  for 
the  old  niggardly  life.” 

And  certainly  Transome  Court  was  now  such  a home  as 
many  women  would  covet.  Yet  even  Harold’s  own  satis- 
faction in  the  midst  of  its  elegant  comfort  needed  at  present 
to  be  sustained  by  the  expectation  of  gratified  resentment. 
He  was  obviously  less  bright  and  enjoying  than  usual,  and 
his  mother,  who  watched  him  closely  without  daring  to  ask 
questions,  had  gathered  hints  and  drawn  inferences  enough 
to  make  her  feel  sure  that  there  was  some  storm  gathering 
between  him  and  Jermyn.  She  did  not  dare  to  ask  questions, 
and  yet  she  had  not  resisted  the  temptation  to  say  something 
bitter  aboqt  Harold’s  failure  to  get  returned  as  aRadical,  help- 
ing, with  feminine  self-defeat,  to  exclude  herself  more  com- 
pletely from  any  consultation  by  him.  In  this  way  poor  women, 
whose  power  lies  solely  in  their  influence,  make  themselves 
like  music  out  of  tune,  and  only  move  men  to  run  away. 

This  morning  Harold  had  ordered  his  letters  to  be  brought 
to  him  at  the  breakfast-table,  which  was  not  his  usual  prac- 
tice. His  mother  could  see  that  there  were  London  business 
letters  about  which  he  was  eager,  and  she  had  found  out  that 
the  letter  brought  by  a clerk  the  day  before  was  to  make  an 
appointment  with  Harold  for  Jermyn  to  come  to  Transome 
Court  at  eleven  this  morning.  She  observed  Harold  swallow 
his  coffee  and  push  away  his  plate  with  an  early  abstraction 
from  the  business  of  breakfast  which  was  not  at  all  after  his 
usual  manner.  She  herself  ate  nothing  : her  sips  of  tea 
seemed  to  excite  her  ; her  cheeks  flushed,  and  her  hands 
were  cold.  She  was  still  young  and  ardent  in  her  terrors  ; 
the  passions  of  the  past  were  living  in  her  dread. 

When  Harold  left  the  table  she  went  into  the  long  drawing- 
room, where  she  might  relieve  her  restlessness  by  walking 
up  and  down,  and  catch  the  sound  of  Jermyn’s  entrance 
into  Harold’s  room,  which  was  close  by.  Here  she  moved 
to  and  fro  amongst  the  rose-colored  satin  of  chairs  and  cur- 
tains— the  great  story  of  this  world  reduced  for  her  to  the 
little  tale  of  her  own  existence — dull  obscurity  everywhere, 
except  where  the  keen  light  fell  on  the  narrow  track  of  her 
own  lot,  wide  only  for  a woman’s  anguish.  At  last  she  heard 
the  expected  ring  and  footstep,  and  the  opening  and  closing 
door.  Unable  to  walk  about  any  longer,  she  sank  into  a 
large  cushioned  chair,  helpless  and  prayerless.  She  was  not 


290 


FELIX  HOLT, 


thinking  of  God’s  anger  or  mercy,  but  of  her  son’s.  She  was 
thinking  of  what  might  be  brought,  not  by  death,  but  by  life. 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

M.  Check  to  your  queen  ! 

N.  > _ Nay,  your  own  king  is  bare, 

And  moving  so,  you  give  yourself  checkmate. 

When  Jermyn  entered  the  room,  Harold,  who  was  seated 
at  his  library  table  examining  papers,  with  his  back  toward 
the  light  and  his  face  toward  the  door,  moved  his  head 
coldly.  Jermyn  said  an  ungracious  “ Good-morning,” — as 
little  as  possible  like  a salutation  to  one  who  might  regard 
himself  as  a patron.  On  the  attorney’s  handsome  face 
there  was  a black  cloud  of  defiant  determination  slightly 
startling  to  Harold,  who  had  expected  to  feel  that  the  over- 
powering weight  of  temper  in  the  interview  was  on  his  own 
side.  Nobody  was  ever  prepared  beforehand  for  this  expres- 
sion of  Jermyn’s  face,  which  seemed  as  strongly  contrasted 
with  the  cold  impenetrableness  which  he  preserved  under 
the  ordinary  annoyance  of  business  as  with  the  bland  radi- 
ance of  his  lighter  moments. 

Harold  himself  did  not  look  amiable  just  then,  but  his 
anger  was  of  the  sort  that  seeks  a vent  without  waiting  to 
give  a fatal  blow  ; it  was  that  of  a nature  more  subtly  mixed 
than  Jermyn’s — less  animally  forcible,  less  unwavering  in 
selfishness,  and  with  more  of  high-bred  pride.  He  looked 
at  Jermyn  with  increased  disgust  and  secret  wonder. 

“ Sit  down,”  he  said  curtly. 

Jermyn  seated  himself  in  silence,  opened  his  great-coat, 
and  took  some  papers  from  a side-pocket. 

“ I have  written  to  Makepeace,”  said  Harold,  “ to  tell 
him  to  take  the  entire  management  of  the  election  expenses. 
So  you  will  transmit  your  accounts  to  him.” 

“ Very  well.  I am  come  this  morning  on  other  business.” 

“ If  it’s  about  the  riot  and  the  prisoners,  I have  only  to 
say  that  I shall  enter  into  no  plans.  If  I am  called  on,  I 
shall  say  what  I know  about  that  young  fellow  Felix  Holt. 
People  may  prove  what  they  can  about  Johnson’s  damnable 
tricks,  or  yours  either.” 

“ I am  not  come  to  speak  about  the  riot.  I agree  with 
you  in  thinking  that  quite  a subordinate  subject.”  (When 
Jermyn  had  the  black  cloud  over  his  face,  he  never  hesitated 
or  drawled,  and  made  no  Latin  quotations.) 

“ Be  so  good,  then,  as  to  open  your  business  at  once,” 
said  Plarold,  in  a tone  of  imperious  indifference. 


THE  RADICAL. 


29! 

“ That  is  precisely  what  I wish  to  do.  I have  here  infor- 
mation from  a London  correspondent  that  you  are  about  to 
file  a bill  against  me  in  Chancery.”  Jermyn,  as  he  spoke, 
laid  his  hand  on  the  papers  before  him,  and  looked  straight 
at  Harold. 

“ In  that  case,  the  question  for  you  is,  how  far  your  con- 
duct as  the  family  solicitor  will  bear  investigation.  But  it 
is  a question  which  you  will  consider  quite  apart  from  me/’ 

“ Doubtless.  But  prior  to  that  there  is  a question  which 
we  must  consider  together.” 

The  tone  in  which  Jermyn  said  this  gave  an  unpleasant 
shock  to  Harold’s  sense  of  mastery.  Was  it  possible  that 
he  should  have  the  weapon  wrenched  out  of  his  hand  ? 

“ I shall  know  what  to  think  of  that,”  he  replied,  as 
haughtily  as  ever, “when  you  have  stated  what  the  question  is.” 

“ Simply,  whether  you  will  choose  to  retain  the  family 
estates,  or  lay  yourself  open  to  be  forthwith  legally  deprived 
of  them.” 

“ I presume  you  refer  to  some  underhand  scheme  of  your 
own,  on  a par  with  the  annuities  you  have  drained  us  by  in 
the  name  of  Johnson,”  said  Harold,  feeling  a new  movement 
of  anger.  “ If  so,  you  had  better  state  your  scheme  to  my 
lawyers,  Dymock  and  Halliwell.” 

“ No.  I think  you  will  approve  of  my  stating  in  your 
own  ear  first  of  all,  that  it  depends  on  my  will  whether  you 
remain  an  important  landed  proprietor  in  North  Loamshire, 
or  whether  you  retire  from  the  country  with  the  remainder 
of  the  fortune  you  have  acquired  in  trade.” 

Jermyn  paused,  as  if  to  leave  time  for  this  morsel  to  be 
tasted. 

“ What  do  you  mean  ? ” said  Harold,  sharply. 

“ Not  any  scheme  of  mine  ; but  a state  of  the  facts  result- 
ing from  the  settlement  of  the  estate  made  in  1729  : state  of 
the  facts  which  renders  your  father’s  title  and  your  own  title 
to  the  family  estates  utterly  worthless  as  soon  as  the  claim- 
ant is  made  aware  of  his  right.” 

“ And  you  intend  to  inform  him  ? ” 

“ That  depends.  I am  the  only  person  who  has  the  requi- 
site knowledge.  It  rests  with  you  to  decide  whether  I shall 
use  that  knowledge  against  you  ; or  whether  I shall  use  it  in 
your  favor  by  putting  an  end  to  the  evidence  that  would  serve 
to  oust  you  in  spite  of  your  ‘ robust  title  of  occupancy.’  ” 

Jermyn  paused  again.  He  had  been  speaking  slowly,  but 
without  the  least  hesitation,  and  with  a bitter  definiteness  of 


FELIX  HOLT, 


£9  2 

enunciation.  There  was  a moment  or  two  before  Harold 
answered,  and  then  he  said  abruptly — 

“ I don't  believe  you." 

“I  thought  you  were  more  shrewd,”  said  Jermyn,  with  a 
touch  of  scorn.  “ I thought  you  understood  that  I had  had 
too  much  experience  to  waste  my  time  in  telling  fables  to 
persuade  a man  who  has  put  himself  into  the  attitude  of  my 
deadly  enemy." 

“ Well,  then,  say  at  once  what  your  proofs  are,"  said  Har- 
old, shaking  in  spite  of  himself,  and  getting  nervous. 

“ I have  no  inclination  to  be  lengthy.  It  is  not  more  than  a 
few  weeks  since  I ascertained  that  there  is  in  existence  an  heir 
of  the  Bycliffes,  the  old  adversaries  of  your  family.  More 
curiously,  it  is  only  a few  days  ago — in  fact,  only  since  the 
day  of  the  riot — that  theBycliffe  claim  has  become  valid,  and 
that  the  right  of  remainder  accrues  to  the  heir  in  question." 

“ And  how,  pray  ? " said  Harold,  rising  from  his  chair, 
and  making  a turn  in  the  room,  with  his  hands  thrust  in  his 
pockets.  Jermyn  rose  too,  and  stood  near  the  hearth,  facing 
Harold,  as  he  moved  to  and  fro. 

“ By  the  death  of  an  old  fellow  who  got  drunk  and  was 
trampled  to  death  in  the  riot.  He  was  the  last  of  that  Thomas 
Transome’s  line,  by  the  purchase  of  whose  interest  your 
family  got  its  title  to  the  estate.  Your  title  died  with  him.  It 
was  supposed  that  the  line  had  become  extinct  before — and 
on  that  supposition  the  old  Bycliffes  founded  their  claim. 
But  I hunted  up  this  man  just  about  the  time  the  last  suit 
was  closed.  His  death  would  have  been  of  no  consequence  to 
you  if  there  had  not  been  a Bycliffe  in  existence;  but  I happen 
to  know  that  there  is,  and  that  the  fact  can  be  legally  proved." 

For  a minute  or  two  Harold  did  not  speak,  but  continued 
to  pace  the  room,  while  Jermyn  kept  his  position,  holding 
his  hands  behind  him.  At  last  Harold  said,  from  the  other 
end  of  the  room,  speaking  in  a scornful  tone— 

“ That  sounds  alarming.  But  it  is  not  to  be  proved  simply 
by  your  statement." 

“ Clearly.  I have  here  a document,  with  a copy  which  will 
back  my  statement.  It  is  the  opinion  given  on  the  case  more 
than  twenty  years  ago,  and  it  bears  the  signature  of  the 
Attorney-General  and  the  first  conveyancer  of  the  day." 

Jermyn  took  up  the  papers  he  had  laid  on  the  table,  opening 
them  slowly  and  coolly  as  he  went  on  speaking,  and  as  Har- 
old advanced  toward  him. 

“ You  may  suppose  that  we  spared  no  pains  to  ascertain  the 


T;T£  RADICAL. 


293 


state  of  the  title  in  the  last  suit  against  Maurice  Christian 
Bycliffe,  which  threatened  to  be  a hard  run.  This  document 
is  the  result  of  a consultation  ; it  gives  an  opinion  which 
must  be  taken  as  a final  authority.  You  may  cast  your  eyes 
over  that,  if  you  please  ; I will  wait  your  time.  Or  you  may 
read  the  summing-up  here/’  Jermyn  ended,  holding  out  one 
of  the  papers  to  Harold,  and  pointing  to  a final  passage. 

Harold  took  the  paper  with  a slight  gesture  of  impatience. 
He  did  not  choose  to  obey  Jermyn’s  indication,  and  confine 
himself  to  the  summing-up.  He  ran  through  the  document. 
But  in  truth  he  was  too  much  excited  really  to  follow  the  de- 
tails, and  was  rather  acting  than  reading,  till  at  once  he 
threw  himself  into  his  chair  and  consented  to  bend  his  atten- 
tion on  the  passage  to  which  Jermyn  had  pointed.  The  at- 
torney watched  him  as  he  read  and  twice  re-read  : — 

To  sum  up we  are  of  opinion  that  the  title  of  the  present  possessors 

of  the  Transome  estate  can  be  strictly  proved  to  rest  solely  upon  a base 
fee  created  under  the  original  settlement  of  1729,  and  to  be  good  so  long 
only  as  issue  exists  of  the  tenant  in  tail  by  whom  that  base  fee  was  cre- 
ated. We  feel  satisfied  by  the  evidence  that  such  issue  exists  in  the  per- 
son of  Thomas  Transome,  otherwise  Trounsem,  of  Littleshaw.  But 
upon  his  decease  without  issue  we  are  of  opinion  that  the  right  in  remain- 
der of  the  Bycliffe  family  will  arise,  which  right  would  not  be  barred  by 
any  statute  of  limitation. 

When  Harold’s  eyes  were  on  the  signatures  to  this  docu- 
ment for  the  third  time,  Jermyn  said — - 

“ As  it  turned  out,  the  case  being  closed  by  the  death  of 
the  claimant,  we  had  no  occasion  for  producing  Thomas 
Transome,  who  was  the  old  fellow  I told  you  of.  The  en- 
quiries about  him  set  him  agog,  and  after  they  were  dropped 
he  came  into  this  neighborhood,  thinking  there  was  some- 
thing fine  in  store  for  him.  Here,  if  you  like  to  take  it,  is  a 
memorandum  about  him.  I repeat  that  he  died  in  the  riot. 
The  proof  is  ready.  And  I repeat,  that,  to  my  knowledge, 
and  mine  only,  there  is  a Bycliffe  in  existence  ; and  that  I 
know  how  the  proof  can  be  made  out.” 

Harold  rose  from  his  chair  again,  and  again  paced  the 
room.  He  was  not  prepared  with  any  defiance. 

“And  where  is  he — this  Bycliffe?”  he  said  at  last,  stop- 
ping in  his  walk,  and  facing  round  toward  Jermyn. 

“ I decline  to  say  more  till  you  promise  to  suspend  pro- 
ceedings against  me.” 

Harold  turned  again,  and  looked  out  of  the  window,  with- 
out speaking,  for  a moment  or  two.  It  was  impossible  that 


294 


FELIX  HOLT, 


there  should  not  be  a conflict  within  him,  and  at  present  it 
was  a very  confused  one.  At  last  he  said — 

“ This  person  is  in  ignorance  of  his  claim ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Has  been  brought  up  in  an  inferior  station  ?” 

“Yes,”  said  Jermyn,  keen  eno*ugh  to  guess  part  of  what 
was  going  on  in  Harold’s  mind.  “ There  is  no  harm  in  leaving 
him  in  ignorance.  The  question  is  a purely  legal  one.  And, 
as  I said  before,  the  complete  knowledge  of  the  case,  as  one 
of  evidence,  lies  exclusively  with  me.  I can  nullify  the 
evidence,  or  I can  make  it  tell  with  certainty  against  you. 
The  choice  lies  with  you.” 

“I  must  have  time  to  think  of  this,”  said  Harold,  con- 
scious of  a terrible  pressure. 

“ I can  give  you  no  time  unless  you  promise  me  to  suspend 
proceedings.” 

“And  then,whenlask  you, you  will  lay  the  details  before  me?” 
“Not  without  a thorough  understanding  beforehand.  If  I 
engage  not  to  use  my  knowledge  against  you,  you  must  engage 
in  writing  that  on  being  satisfied  by  the  details,  you  will  can- 
cel all  hostile  proceedings  against  me,  and  will  not  institute 
fresh  ones  on  the  strength  of  any  occurrences  now  past.” 
“Well,  I must  have  time,”  said  Harold,  more  than  ever 
inclined  to  thrash  the  attorney,  but  feeling  bound  hand  and 
foot  with  knots  that  he  was  not  sure  he  could  ever  unfasten. 

“ That  is  to  say,”  said  Jermyn,  with  his  black-browed  per- 
sistence, “you  will  write  to  suspend  proceedings.” 

Again  Harold  paused.  He  was  more  than  ever  exasper- 
ated, but  he  was  threatened,  mortified,  and  confounded  by 
the  necessity  for  an  immediate  decision  between  alternatives 
almost  equally  hateful  to  him.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  he 
could  prevail  on  himself  to  speak  any  conclusive  words.  He 
walked  as  far  as  he  could  from  Jermyn — to  the  other  end  of 
the  room — then  walked  back  to  his  chair  and  threw  himself 
into  it.  At  last  he  said,  without  looking  at  Jermyn,  “ I agree 
— I must  have  time.” 

“ Very  well.  It  is  a bargain.” 

“No  further  than  this,”  said  Harold,  hastily,  flashing  a 
look  at  Jermyn — “no  further  than  this,  that  I require  time, 
and  therefore  I give  it  to  you.” 

“ Of  course.  You  require  time  to  consider  whether  the 
pleasure  of  trying  to  ruin  me — me  to  whom  you  are  really 
indebted — is  worth  the  loss  of  the  Transoms  estates.  I shall 
^yish  you  good-morning.” 


THE  RADICAL. 


*95 


Harold  did  not  speak  to  him  or  look  at  him  again,  and 
Jermyn  walked  out  of  the  room.  As  he  appeared  outside 
the  door  and  closed  it  behind  him,  Mrs.  Transome  showed 
her  white  face  at  another  door  which  opened  on  a level  with 
Harold’s  in  such  a way  that  it  was  just  possible  for  Jermyn 
not  to  see  her.  He  availed  himself  of  that  possibility,  and 
walked  straight  across  the  hall,  where  there  was  no  servant 
in  attendance  to  let  him  out,  as  if  he  believed  that  no  one 
was  looking  at  him  who  could  expect  recognition.  He  did 
not  want  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Transome  at  present ; he  had 
nothing  to  ask  from  her,  and  one  disagreeable  interview  had 
been  enough  for  him  this  morning. 

She  was  convinced  that  he  had  avoided  her,  and  she  was 
too  proud  to  arrest  him.  She  was  as  insignificant  now  in  his 
eyes  as  in  her  son’s.  “ Men  have  no  memories  in  theirhearts,” 
she  said  to  herself,  bitterly.  And  then  turning  into  her  sit- 
ting-room she  heard  the  voices  of  Mr.  Transome  and  little 
Harry  at  play  together.  She  would  have  given  a great  deal 
at  this  moment  if  her  feeble  husband  had  not  always  lived 
in  dread  of  her  temper  and  her  tyranny,  so  that  he  might  have 
been  fond  of  her  now.  She  felt  herself  loveless  ; if  she  was 
important  to  any  one,  it  was  only  to  her  old  waiting-woman 
Denner. 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

Are  these  things  then  necessities  ? . 

Then  let  us  meet  them  like  necessities. 

—Shakespeare  : Henry  IV % 

See  now  the  virtue  living  in  a word  ! 

Hobson  will  think  of  swearing  it  was  noon 
When  he  saw  Dobson  at  the  May-day  fair, 

To  prove  poor  Dobson  did  not  rob  the  mail. 

’Tis  neighborly  to  save  a neighbor’s  neck  : 

What  harm  in  lying  when  you  mean  no  harm  ? 

But  say  ’tis  perjury,  then  Hobson  quakes — 

He’ll  none  of  perjury. 

Thus  words  embalm 

The  conscience  of  mankind  : and^Roman  laws 
Bring  still  a conscience  to  poor  Hobson’s  aid. 

Few  men  would  have  felt  otherwise  than  Harold  Tran- 
some felt,  if,  having  a reversion  tantamount  to  possession 
of  a fine  estate,  carrying  an  association  with  an  old  name  and 
considerable  social  importance,  they  were  suddenly  informed 
that  there  was  a person  who  had  a legal  right  to  deprive 
them  of  these  advantages;  that  person’s  right  having  never 
been  contemplated  by  any  one  as  more  than  a chance,  and 
being  quite  unknown  to  himself.  In  ordinary  cases  a 
shorter  possession  than  Harold’s  family  had  enjoyed  was 
allowed  by  the  law  to  constitute  an  indefeasible  right;  and 


296 


FELIX  HOLT, 


if  in  rare  and  peculiar  instances  the  law  left  the  possessor  of 
a long  inheritance  exposed  to  deprivation  as  the  consequence 
of  old  obscure  transactions,  the  moral  reasons  for  giving 
legal  validity  to  the  title  of  long  occupancy  were  not  the 
less  strong.  Nobody  would  have  said  that  Harold  was  bound 
to  hunt  out  this  alleged  remainder-man  and  urge  his  rights 
upon  him;  on  the  contrary,  all  the  world  would  have  laughed 
at  such  conduct, and  he  would  have  been  thought  an  interest- 
ing patient  for  a mad-doctor.  The  unconscious  remainder-man 
was  probably  much  better  off,  left  in  his  original  station: 
Harold  would  not  have  been  called  upon  to  consider  his  ex- 
istence, if  it  had  not  been  presented  to  him  in  the  shape  of 
a threat  from  one  who  had  power  to  execute  the  threat. 

In  fact,  what  he  would  have  done  had  the  circumstances 
been  different,  was  much  clearer  than  what  he  should  choose 
to  do  or  feel  himself  compelled  to  do  in  the  actual  crisis. 
He  would  not  have  been  disgraced  if,  on  a valid  claim  being 
urged,  he  had  got  his  lawyers  to  fight  it  out  for  him  on  the 
chance  of  eluding  the  claim  by  some  adroit  technical  man- 
agement. Nobody  off  the  stage  could  be  sentimental  about 
these  things,  or  pretend  to  shed  tears  of  joy  because  an 
estate  was  handed  over  from  a gentleman  to  a mendicant 
sailor  with  a wooden  leg.  And  this  chance  remainder-man 
was  perhaps  some  such  specimen  of  inheritance  as  the  drunken 
fellow  killed  in  the  riot.  All  the  world  would  think  the 
actual  Transomes  in  the  right  to  contest  any  adverse  claim 
to  the  utmost.  But  then — it  was  not  certain  that  they 
would  win  in  the  contest;  and  not  winning,  they  would 
incur  other  losses  besides  that  of  the  estate.  There  had  been 
a little  too  much  of  such  loss  already. 

But  why,  if  it  were  not  wrong  to  contest  the  claim,  should 
he  feel  the  most  uncomfortable  scruples  about  robbing  the 
claim  of  its  sting  by  getting  rid  of  its  evidence  ? It  was  a 
mortal  disappointment — it  was  a sacrifice  of  indemnification 
— to  abstain  from  punishing  Jermyn.  But  even  if  he  brought 
his  mind  to  contemplate  that  as  the  wiser  course,  he  still 
shrank  from  what  looked  like  complicity  with  Jermyn;  he 
still  shrank  from  the  secret  nullification  of  a just  legal  claim. 
If  he  had  only  known  the  details,  if  he  had  known  who 
this  alleged  heir  was,  he  might  have  seen  his  way  to  some 
course  that  would  not  have  grated  on  his  sense  of  honor 
and  dignity.  But  Jermyn  had  been  too  acute  to  let  Harold 
know  this:  he  had  even  carefully  kept  to  the  masculine  pro- 
noun. And  he  believed  that  there  was  no  one  besides  him- 


THE  RADICAL. 


297 

self  who  would  or  could  makeHarold  any  wiser.  He  went  home 
persuaded  that  between  this  interview  and  the  next  which 
they  would  have  together,  Harold  would  be  left  to  an  inward 
debate,  founded  entirely  on  the  information  he  himself  had 
given.  And  he  had  not  much  doubt  that  the  result  would  be 
what  he  desired.  Harold  was  no  fool:  there  were  many  good 
things  he  liked  better  in  life  than  an  irrational  vindictiveness. 

And  it  did  happen  that,  after  writing  to  London  in  fulfill- 
ment of  his  pledge,  Harold  spent  many  hours  over  that  in- 
ward debate,  which  was  not  very  different  from  what  Jermyn 
imagined.  He  took  it  everywhere  with  him  on  foot  and  on 
horseback,  and  it  was  his  companion  through  a great  deal  of 
the  night.  His  nature  was  not  of  a kind  given  to  internal 
conflict,  and  he  had  never  before  been  long  undecided  and 
puzzled.  This  unaccustomed  state  of  mind  was  so  painfully 
irksome  to  him — he  rebelled  so  impatiently  against  the  op- 
pression of  circumstances  in  which  his  quick  temperament 
and  habitual  decision  could  not  help  him — that  it  added 
tenfold  to  his  hatred  of  Jermyn,  who  was  the  cause  of  it.  And 
thus,  as  the  temptation  to  avoid  all  risk  of  losing  the  estate 
grew  and  grew  till  scruples  looked  minute  by  the  side  of  it, 
the  difficulty  of  bringing  himself  to  make  a compact  with 
Jermyn  seemed  more  and  more  insurmountable. 

But  we  have  seen  that  the  attorney  was  much  too  confi- 
dent in  his  calculations.  And  while  Harold  was  being  gulled 
by  his  subjection  to  Jermyn’s  knowledge,  independent  infor- 
mation was  on  its  way  to  him.  The  messenger  was  Chris- 
tian, who,  after  as  complete  a survey  of  probabilities  as  he 
was  capable  of,  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  most 
profitable  investment  he  could  make  of  his  peculiar  experi- 
ence and  testimony  in  relation  to  Bycliffe  and  Bycliffe’s 
daughter,  was  to  place  them  at  the  disposal  of  Harold  Tran- 
some.  He  was  afraid  of  Jermyn  ; he  utterly  distrusted 
Johnson  ; but  he  thought  he  was  secure  in  relying  on  Harold 
Transome’s  care  for  his  own  interest;  and  he  preferred  above 
all  issues  the  prospect  of  forthwith  leaving  the  country  with 
a sum  that  at  least  for  a good  while  would  put  him  at  his  ease. 

When,  only  three  mornings  after  the  interview  with  Jermyn, 
Dominic  opened  the  door  of  Harold’s  sitting-room,  and  said 
that  “ Meester  Chreestian,”  Mr.  Philip  Debarry’s  courier 
and  an  acquaintance  of  his  own  at  Naples,  requested  to  be 
admitted  on  business  of  importance,  Harold’s  immediate 
thought  was  that  the  business  referred  to  the  so-called  po- 
litical affairs  which  were  just  now  his  chief  association  with 


FELIX  HOLT, 


298 

the  name  of  Debarry,  though  it  seemed  an  oddness  requiring 
explanation,  that  a servant  should  be  personally  an  inter- 
mediary. He  assented,  expecting  something  rather  dis- 
agreeable than  otherwise. 

Christian  wore  this  morning  those  perfect  manners  of  a 
subordinate  who  is  not  servile,  which  he  always  adopted 
toward  his  unquestionable  superiors.  Mr.  Debarry,  who 
preferred  having  some  one  about  him  with  as  little  resem- 
blance as  possible  to  a regular  servant,  had  a singular  liking 
for  the  adroit,  quiet-mannered  Christian,  and  would  have 
been  amazed  to  see  the  insolent  assumption  he  was  capable 
of  in  the  presence  of  people  like  Mr.  Lyon,  who  were  of  no 
account  in  society.  Christian  had  that  sort  of  cleverness 
which  is  said  to  “ know  the  world  ” — that  is  to  say,  he  knew 
the  price-current  of  most  things. 

Aware  that  he  was  looked  at  as  a messenger  while  he 
remained  standing  near  the  door  with  his  hat  in  his  hand, 
he  said,  with  respectful  ease — 

“You  will  probably  be  surprised,  sir,  at  my  coming  to 
speak  to  you  on  my  own  account  ; and,  in  fact,  I could  not 
have  thought  of  doing  so  if  my  business  did  not  happen  to  be 
something  of  more  importance  to  you  than  to  any  one  else.” 
“ You  don’t  come  from  Mr.  Debarry,  then  ? ” said  Harold, 
with  some  surprise. 

“ No,  sir.  My  business  is  a secret ; and,  if  you  please, 
must  remain  so.” 

“ Is  it  a pledge  you  are  demanding  from  me  ? 99  said  Har- 
old, rather  suspiciously,  having  no  ground  for  confidence  in 
a man  of  Christian’s  position. 

“ Yes,  sir  ; I am  obliged  to  ask  no  less  than  that  you  will 
pledge  yourself  not  to  take  Mr.  Jermyn  into  confidence  con- 
cerning what  passes  between  us.” 

“ With  all  my  heart,”  said  Harold,  something  like  a gleam 
passing  over  his  face.  His  circulation  had  become  more 
rapid.  “ But  what  have  you  had  to  do  with  Jermyn  ? ” 

“ He  has  not  mentioned  me  to  you  then — has  he,  sir  ? ” 

“ No  ; certainly  not — never.” 

Christian  thought,  “Aha,  Mr.  Jermyn  ! you  are  keeping 
the  secret  well,  are  you  ? ” He  said,  aloud — 

“ Then  Mr.  Jermyn  has  never  mentioned  to  you,  sir,  what  I 
believe  he  is  aware  of — that  there  is  danger  of  a new  suit  being 
raised  against  you  on  the  part  of  a Bycliffe,  to  get  the  estate?” 
“ Ah  ! ” said  Harold,  starting  up,  and  placing  himself  with 
his  back  against  the  mantel-piece,  He  was  electrified  by 


THE  RADICAL. 


299 

surprise  at  the  quarter  from  which  this  information  was 
coming.  Any  fresh  alarm  was  counteracted  by  the  flashing 
thought  that  he  might  be  enabled  to  act  independently  of 
Jermyn  ; and  in  the  rush  of  feelings  he  could  utter  no  more 
than  an  interjection.  Christian  concluded  that  Harold  had 
no  previous  hint. 

“ It  is  this  fact,  that  I came  to  tell  you  of.” 

“ From  some  other  motive  than  kindness  to  me,  I pre- 
sume,” said  Harold,  with  a slight  approach  to  a smile. 

“ Certainly,”  said  Christian,  as  quietly  as  if  he  had  been 
stating  yesterday’s  weather.  “ I should  not  have  the  folly 
to  use  any  affectation  with  you,  Mr.  Transome.  I lost  con- 
siderable property  early  in  life,  and  am  now  in  the  receipt 
of  a salary  simply.  In  the  affair  I have  just  mentioned  to 
you  I can  give  evidence  which  will  turn  the  scale  against 
you.  I have  no  wish  to  do  so,  if  you  will  make  it  worth  my 
while  to  leave  the  country.” 

Harold  listened  as  if  he  had  been  a legendary  hero,  se- 
lected for  peculiar  solicitation  by  the  Evil  One.  Here  was 
temptation  in  a more  alluring  form  than  before,  because  it 
was  sweetened  by  the  prospect  of  eluding  Jermyn.  But  the 
desire  to  gain  time  served  all  the  purposes  of  caution  and 
resistance,  and  his  indifference  to  the  speaker  in  this  case 
helped  him  to  preserve  perfect  self-command. 

“ You  are  aware,”  he  said, ^coolly,  “ that  silence  is  not  a 
commodity  worth  purchasing  unless  it  is  loaded.  .There 
are  many  persons,  I dare  say,  who  would  like  me  to  pay 
their  travelling  expenses  for  them.  But  they  might  hardly 
be  able  to  show  me  that  it  was  worth  my  while.” 

“ You  wish  me  to  state  what  I know  ? ” 

“Well,  that  is  a necessary  preliminary  to  any  further  con- 
versation.” 

“ I think  you  will  see,  Mr.  Transome,  that,  as  a matter  of 
justice,  the  knowledge  I can  give  is  worth  something,  quite 
apart  from  my  future  appearance  or  non-appearance  as  a 
witness.  I must  take  care  of  my  own  interest,  and  if  any- 
thing should  hinder  you  from  choosing  to  satisfy  me  for 
taking  an  essential  witness  out  of  the  way,  I must  at  least  be 
paid  for  bringing  you  the  information.” 

“ Can  you  tell  me  who  and  where  this  Bycliffe  is  ? ” 

“ I can.” 

“ And  give  me  a notion  of  the  whole  affair  ?” 

“Yes  ; I have  talked  to  a lawyer — not  Jermyn — who  is  at 
the  bottom  of  the  law  in  the  affair.” 


3°° 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ You  must  not  count  on  any  wish  of  mine  to  suppress 
evidence  or  remove  a witness.  But  name  your  price  for  the 
information/’ 

“ In  that  case  I must  be  paid  the  higher  for  my  informa- 
tion. Say,  two  thousand  pounds.” 

“Two  thousand  devils!”  burst  outHarold,  throwing  himself 
into  his  chair  again, and  turning  his  shoulder  towardChristian. 
New  thoughts  crowded  upon  him.  “ This  fellow  may  want 
to  decamp  for  some  reason  or  other,”  he  said  to  himself.  “More 
people  besides  Jermyn  know  about  his  evidence, it  seems.  The 
whole  thing  may  look  black  for  me  if  it  comes  out.  I shall 
be  believed  to  have  bribed  him  to  run  away,  whether  or  not.” 
Thus  the  outside  conscience  came  in  aid  of  the  inner. 

“ I will  not  give  you  one  sixpence  for  your  information,” 
he  said,  resolutely,  “ until  time  has  made  it  clear  that  you 
do  not  intend  to  decamp,  but  will  be  forthcoming  when  you 
are  called  for.  On  those  terms  I have  no  objection  to  give 
you  a note,  specifying  that  after  the  fulfilment  of  that  con- 
dition—that  is,  after  the  occurrence  of  a suit,  or  the  under- 
standing that  no  suit  is  to  occur — I will  pay  you  a certain 
sum  in  consideration  of  the  information  you  now  give  me  ! ” 

Christian  felt  himself  caught  in  a vise.  In  the  first  in- 
stance he  had  counted  confidently  on  Harold’s  ready  seiz- 
ure of  his  offer  to  disappear,  and  after  some  words  had 
seemed  to  cast  a doubt  on  this  presupposition  he  had  inward- 
ly determined  to  go  away,  whether  Harold  wished  it  or  not, 
if  he  could  get  a sufficient  sum.  He  did  not  reply  immedi- 
ately, and  Harold  waited  in  silence,  inwardly  anxious  to 
know  what  Christian  could  tell,  but  with  a vision  at  present 
so  far  cleared  that  he  was  determined  not  to  risk  incurring 
the  imputation  of  having  anything  to  do  with  scoundrelism. 
We  are  very  much  indebted  to  such  a linking  of  events  as 
makes  a doubtful  action  look  wrong. 

Christian  was  reflecting  that  if  he  stayed  and  faced  some 
possible  inconveniences  of  being  known  publicly  as  Henry 
Scaddon  for  the  sake  of  what  he  might  get  from  Esther,  it 
would  at  least  be  wise  to  be  certain  of  some  money  from 
Harold  Transome,  since  he  turned  out  to  be  of  so  peculiar 
a disposition  as  to  insist  on  a punctilious  honesty  to  his  own 
disadvantage.  Did  he  think  of  making  a bargain  with  the 
other  side  ? If  so,  he  might  be  content  to  wait  for  the  knowl- 
edge till  it  came  in  some  other  way.  Christian  was  begin- 
ning to  be  afraid  lest  he  should  get  nothing  by  this  clever 
move  of  coming  to  Transome  Court,  At  last  he  said — - 


THE  RADICAL.  301 

“I  think,  sir,  two  thousand  would  not  be  an  unreasona- 
ble sum,  on  those  conditions.” 

“ I will  not  give  two  thousand.” 

“ Allow  me  to  say,  sir,  you  must  consider  that  there  is  no 
one  whose  interest  it  is  to  tell  you  as  much  as  I shall,  even 
if  they  could  ; since  Mr.  Jermyn,  who  knows  it,  has  not 
thought  fit  to  tell  you.  There  may  be  use  you  don’t  think 
of  in  getting  the  information  at  once.” 

“Well?” 

“ I think  a gentleman  should  act  liberally  under  such  cir- 
cumstances.” 

“ So  I will.” 

“ I could  not  take  less  than  a thousand  pounds.  It  really 
would  not  be  worth  my  while.  If  Mr.  Jermyn  knew  I gave 
you  the  information,  he  would  endeavor  to  injure  me.” 

“ I will  give  you  a thousand,”  said  Harold,  immediately, 
for  Christian  had  unconsciously  touched  a sure  spring.  “At 
least,  I’ll  give  you  a note  to  the  effect  I spoke  of.” 

He  wrote  as  he  had  promised.,  and  gave  the  paper  to 
Christian. 

“ Now,  don’t  be  circuitous,”  saidHarold.  “You  seem  to  have 
a business-like  gift  of  speech.  Who  and  where  is  thisBycliffe?” 
“ You  will  be  surprised  to  hear, sir, that  she  is  supposed  to  be 
the  daughter  of  the  old  preacher,  Lyon,  in  Malthouse  Yard.” 
“ Good  God  ! How  can  that  be  ? ” saidHarold.  At  once, 
the  first  occasion  on  which  he  had  seen  Esther  rose  in  his 
memory — the  little  dark  parlor — the  graceful  girl  in  blue, 
with  the  surprisingly  distinguished  manners  and  appearance. 

“ In  this  way.  Old  Lyon,  by  some  strange  means  or  other, 
married  Bycliffe’s  widow  when  this  girl  was  a baby.  And 
the  preacher  didn’t  want  the  girl  to  know  that  he  was  not 
her  real  father  : he  told  me  that  himself.  But  she  is  the 
image  of  Bycliffe,  whom  I knew  well — an  uncommonly  fine 
woman — steps  like  a queen.” 

“ I have  seen  her,”  said  Harold,  more  than  ever  glad  to 
have  purchased  this  knowledge.  “But  now,  go  on.” 

Christian  proceeded  to  tell  all  he  knew,  including  his  con- 
versation with  Jermyn,  except  so  far  as  it  had  an  unpleasant 
relation  to  himself. 

“ Then,”  said  Harold,  as  the  details  seemed  to  have  come 
to  a close,  “ you  believe  that  Miss  Lyon  and  her  supposed 
father  are  at  present  unaware  of  the  claims  that  might  be 
urged  for  her  on  the  strength  of  her  birth  ? ” 

“ I believe  so.  But  I need  not  tell  you  that  where  the  law- 


3°2 


FELIX  HOLT, 


yers  are  on  the  scent  you  can  never  be  sure  of  anything  long 
together.  I must  remind  you,  sir,  that  you  have  promised 
to  protect  me  from  Mr.  Jermyn  by  keeping  my  confidence.” 

“ Never  fear.  Depend  upon  it,  I shall  betray  nothing  to 
Mr.  Jermyn.” 

Christian  was  dismissed  with  a “ good-morning  ” ; and 
while  he  cultivated  some  friendly  reminiscences  with  Dom- 
inic, Harold  sat  chewing  the  cud  of  his  new  knowledge,  and 
finding  it  not  altogether  so  bitter  as  he  had  expected. 

From  the  first,  after  his  interview  with  Jermyn, the  recoil  of 
Harold’s  mind  from  the  idea  of  strangling  a legal  right  threw 
him  on  the  alternative  of  attempting  a compromise.  Some 
middle  course  might  be  possible,  which  would  be  a less  evil 
than  a costly  lawsuit,  or  than  the  total  renunciation  of  the 
estates.  And  now  he  had  learned  that  the  new  claimant  was 
a woman — a young  woman,  brought  up  under  circumstances 
that  would  make  the  fourth  of  the  Transome  property  seem 
to  her  an  immense  fortune.  Both  the  sex  and  the  social  con- 
dition were  of  the  sort  that  lies  open  to  many  softening  in- 
fluences. And  having  seen  Esther,  it  was  inevitable  that, 
amongst  the  various  issues,  agreeable  and  disagreeable,  de- 
picted by  Harold’s  imagination,  there  should  present  itself  a 
possibility  that  would  unite  the  two  claims — his  own,  which 
he  felt  to  be  the  rational,  and  Esther’s,  which  apparently 
was  the  legal  claim. 

Harold,  as  he  had  constantly  said  to  his  mother,  was  “not 
a marrying  man  ” ; he  did  not  contemplate  bringing  a wife  to 
Transome  Court  for  many  years  to  come,  if  at  all.  Having 
little  Harry  as  an  heir,  he  preferred  freedom.  Western 
women  were  not  to  his  taste  ; they  showed  a transition  from 
the  feebly  animal  to  the  thinking  being,  which  was  simply 
troublesome.  Harold  preferred  a slow-witted  large-eyed 
woman,  silent  and  affectionate,  with  a load  of  black  hair 
weighing  much  more  heavily  than  her  brains.  He  had  seen 
no  such  woman  in  England,  except  one  which  he  had 
brought  with  him  from  the  East. 

Therefore  Harold  did  not  care  to  be  married  until  or  un- 
less some  surprising  chance  presented  itself  ; and  now  that 
such  a chance  had  occurred  to  suggest  marriage  to  him,  he 
would  not  admit  to  himself  that  he  contemplated  marrying 
Esther  as  a plan  ; he  was  only  obliged  to  see  that  such  an 
issue  was  not  inconceivable.  He  was  not  going  to  take  any 
step  expressly  directed  toward  that  end  : what  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  to,  as  the  course  most  satisfactory  to  his  nature 


THE  RADICAL. 


303 

9 

under  present  urgencies,  was  to  behave  to  Esther  with  a 
frank  gentle  manliness,  which  must  win  her  good  will,  and  in- 
cline her  to  save  his  family  interest  as  much  as  possible.  He 
was  helped  to  this  determination  by  the  pleasure  of  frustrating 
Jermyn’s  contrivance  to  shield  himself  from  punishment, 
and  his  most  distinct  and  cheering  prospect  was  that  within 
a very  short  space  of  time  he  should  not  only  have  effected 
a satisfactory  compromise  with  Esther,  but  should  have  made 
Jermyn  aware  by  a very  disagreeable  form  of  announcement, 
that  Harold  Transome  was  no  longer  afraid  of  him.  Jermyn 
should  bite  the  dust. 

At  the  end  of  these  meditations  he  felt  satisfied  with  him- 
self and  light-hearted.  He  had  rejected  two  dishonest  prop- 
ositions, and  he  was  going  to  do  something  that  seemed 
eminently  graceful.  But  he  needed  his  mother’s  assistance, 
and  it  was  necessary  that  he  should  both  confide  in  her  and 
persuade  her. 

Within  two  hours  after  Christian  left  him,  Harold  begged 
his  mother  to  come  into  his  private  room,  and  there  he  told 
her  the  strange  and  startling  story,  omitting,  however,  any 
particulars  which  would  involve  the  identification  of  Christian 
as  his  informant.  Harold  feltthSt  his  engagement  demanded 
his  reticence  ; and  he  told  his  mother  that  he  was  bound  to 
conceal  the  source  of  that  knowledge  which  he  had  got  inde- 
pendently of  Jermyn. 

Mrs.  Transome  said  little  in  the  course  of  the  story  : she 
made  no  exclamations,  but  she  listened  with  close  attention, 
and  asked  a few  questions  so  much  to  the  point  as  to  sur- 
prise Harold.  When  he  showed  her  the  copy  of  the  legal 
opinion  which  Jermyn  had  left  with  him,  she  said  she  knew  it 
very  well  ; she  had  a copy  herself.  The  particulars  of  that 
last  lawsuit  were  too  well  engraven  on  her  mind  : it  happened 
at  a time  when  there  was  no  one  to  supersede  her,  and  she 
was  the  virtual  head  of  the  family  affairs.  She  was  prepared 
to  understand  how  the  estate  might  be  in  danger  ; but  noth- 
ing had  prepared  her  for  the  strange  details — for  the  way  in 
which  the  new  claimant  had  been  reared  and  brought  within 
the  range  of  converging  motives  that  had  led  to  this  revela- 
tion, least  of  all  for  the  part  Jermyn  had  come  to  play  in  the 
revelation.  Mrs.  Transome  saw  these  things  through  the 
medium  of  certain  dominant  emotions  that  made  them  seem 
like  a long-ripening  retribution.  Harold  perceived  that  she 
was  painfully  agitated,  that  she  trembled,  and  that  her  white 
lips  would  not  readily  lend  themselves  to  speech.  And  this 


3°  4 


FELIX  HOLT, 


was  hardly  more  than  he  expected.  He  had  not  liked  the 
revelation  himself  when  it  had  first  come  to  him. 

But  he  did  not  guess  what  it  was  in  his  narrative  which 
had  most  pierced  his  mother.  It  was  something  that  made 
the  threat*about  the  estate  only  a secondary  alarm.  Now, 
for  the  first  time,  she  heard  of  the  intended  proceedings  against 
Jermyn.  Harold. had  not  chosen  to  speak  of  them  before  ; 
but  having  at  last  called  his  mother  into  consultation,  there 
was  nothing  in  his  mind  to  hinder  him  from  speaking  with- 
out reserve  of  his  determination  to  visit  on  the  attorney  his 
shameful  maladministration  of  the  family  affairs. 

Harold  went  through  the  whole  narrative — of  what  he 
called  Jermyn’s  scheme  to  catch  him  in  a vise,  and  his  power 
of  triumphantly  frustrating  that  scheme — in  his  usual  rapid 
way,  speaking  with  a final  decisiveness  of  tone  : and  his 
mother  felt  that  if  she  urged  any  counter-consideration  at 
all,  she  could  only  do  so  when  he  had  no  more  to  say. 

“ Now,  what  I want  you  to  do,  mother,  if  you  can  see  this 
matter  as  I see  it,”  Harold  said  in  conclusion,  “ is  to  go  with 
me  to  call  on  this  girl  in  Malthouse  Yard.  I will  open  the 
affair  to  her  ; it  appears  she  is  not  likely  to  have  been  informed 
yet  ; and  you  will  invite  her  to  visit  you  here  at  once,  that 
all  scandal,  all  hatching  of  law-mischief,  may  be  avoided, 
and  the  thing  may  be  brought  to  an  amicable  conclusion.” 

“ It  seems  almost  incredible — extraordinary — a girl  in  her 
position,”  said  Mrs.  Transome,  with  difficulty.  It  would 
have  seemed  the  bitterest,  humiliating  penance  if  another 
sort  of  suffering  had  left  any  room  in  her  heart. 

“ I assure  you  she  is  a lady ; I saw  her  when  I was  can- 
vassing, and  was  amazed  at  the  time.  You  will  be  quite 
struck  with  her.  It  is  no  indignity  for  you  to  invite  her.” 

“ Oh,”  said  Mrs.  Transome,  with  low-toned  bitterness,  “ I 
must  put  up  with  all  things  as  they  are  determined  for  me. 
When  shall  we  go?” 

“Well,”  said  Harold,  looking  at  his  watch,  “it  is  hardly 
two  yet.  We  could  really  go  to-day,  when  you  have  lunched. 
It  is  better  to  lose  no  time.  I’ll  order  the  carriage.” 

“Stay,”  saidMrs. Transome, with  a desperate  effort.  “There 
is  plenty  of  time.  I shall  not  lunch.  I have  a word  to  say.” 
Harold  withdrew  his  hand  from  the  bell,  and  leaned  against 
the  mantel-piece  to  listen. 

“ You  see  I comply  with  your  wish  at  once,  Harold  ?” 
“Yes,  mother,  I’m  much  obliged  to  you  for  making  no 
difficulties.” 


THE  RADICAL. 


3°S 


“You  ought  to  listen  to  me  in  return. ” 

“ Pray  go  on/’  said  Harold,  expecting  to  be  annoyed. 

“What  is  the  good  of  having  these  Chancery  proceedings 
against  Jermyn  ?” 

“ Good  ? This  good  : that  fellow  has  burdened  the 
estate  with  annuities  and  mortgages  to  the  extent  of  three 
thousand  a year  ; and  the  bulk  of  them,  I am  certain,  he 
holds  himself  under  the  name  of  another  man.  And  the 
advances  this  yearly  interest  represents,  have  not  been 
much  more  than  twenty  thousand.  Of  course,  he  has 
hoodwinked  you,  and  my  father  never  gave  attention  to 
these  things.  He  has  been  up  to  all  sorts  of  devil’s  work 
with  the  deeds  ; he  didn’t  count  on  my  coming  back  from 
Smyrna  to  fill  poor  Durfey’s  place.  He  shall  feel  the  differ- 
ence. And  the  good  will  be,  that  I shall  save  almost  all 
the  annuities  for  the  rest  of  my  father’s  life,  which  may  be 
ten  years  or  more,  and  I shall  get  back  some  of  the  money, 
and  I shall  punish  a scoundrel.  That  is  the  good.” 

“ He  will  be  ruined.” 

“ That’s  what  I intend,”  said  Harold,  sharply. 

“ He  exerted  himself  a great  deal  for  us  in  the  old  suits  : 
everyone  said  he  had  wonderful  zeal  and  ability,”  said  Mrs. 
Transome,  getting  courage  and  warmth,  as  she  went  on. 
Her  temper  was  rising. 

“ What  he  did,  he  did  for  his  own  sake,  you  may  depend 
on  that,”  said  Harold,  with  a scornful  laugh. 

“ There  were  very  painful  things  in  that  last  suit.  You 
seem  anxious  about  this  young  woman,  to  avoid  all  further 
scandal  and  contests  in  the  family.  Why  don’t  you  wish  to 
do  it  in  this  case  ? Jermyn  might  be  willing  to  arrange  things 
amicably — to  make  restitution  as  far  as  he  can— -if  he  has 
done  anything  wrong.” 

“ I will  arrange  nothing  amicably  with  him,”  said  Harold, 
decisively.  “ If  he  has  ever  done  anything  scandalous  as 
our  agent,  let  him  bear  the  infamy.  And  the  right  way  to 
throw  the  infamy  on  him  is  to  show  the  world  that  he  has 
robbed  us,  and  that  I mean  to  punish  him.  Why  do  you 
wish  to  shield  such  a fellow,  mother?  It  has  been  chiefly 
through  him  that  you  have  had  to  lead  such  a thrifty,  miser- 
able life — you  who  used  to  make  as  brilliant  a figure  as  a 
woman  need  wish.” 

Mrs.  Transome’s  rising  temper  was  turned  into  a horri- 
ble sensation,  as  painful  as  a sudden  concussion  from  some- 
thing hard  and  immovable  when  we  have  struck  out  with 


3°6 


FELIX  HOLT, 


our  fist,  intending  to  hit  something  warm,  soft,  and  breath- 
ing like  ourselves.  Poor  Mrs.  Transome’s  strokes  were 
sent  jarring  back  on  her  by  a hard  unalterable  past.  She  did 
not  speak  in  answer  to  Harold,  but  rose  from  the  chair  as  if 
she  gave  up  the  debate. 

“ Women  are  frightened  at  everything  I know,”  said  Har- 
old, kindly,  feeling  that  he  had  been  a little  harsh  after  his 
mother’s  compliance.  “And  you  have  been  used  for  so  many 
years  to  think  Jermyn  a law  of  nature.  Come,  mother,”  he 
went  on,  looking  at  her  gently,  and  resting  his  hands  on  her 
shoulders,  “ look  cheerful.  We  shall  get  through  all  these 
difficulties.  And  this  girl — I dare  say  she  will  be  quite  an 
interesting  visitor  for  you.  You  have  not  had  any  young  girl 
about  you  for  a long  while.  Who  knows?  she  may  fall  deeply 
in  love  with  me,  and  I may  be  obliged  to  marry  her.” 

He  spoke  laughingly,  only  thinking  how  he  could  make 
his  mother  smile.  But  she  looked  at  him  seriously  and 
said,  “ Do  you  mean  that,  Harold  ? ” 

“ Am  I not  capable  of  making  a conquest  ? Not  too  fat 
yet — a handsome,  well-rounded  youth  of  thirty-four  ? ” 

She  was  forced  to  look  straight  at  the  beaming  face,  with 
its  rich  dark  color,  just  bent  a little  over  her.  Why  could 
she  not  be  happy  in  this  son  whose  future  she  had  once 
dreamed  of,  and  who  had  been  as  fortunate  as  she  had  ever 
hoped  ? The  tears  came,  not  plenteously,  but  making  her 
dark  eyes  as  large  and  bright  as  youth  had  once  made  them 
without  tears. 

“ There,  there  ! ” said  Harold,  coaxingly.  “ Don’t  be 
afraid.  You  shall  not  have  a daughter-in-law  unless  she  is  a 
pearl.  Now  we  will  get  ready  to  go.” 

In  half  an  hour  from  that  time  Mrs.  Transome  came 
down,  looking  majestic  in  sables  and  velvet,  ready  to  call 
on  “ the  girl  in  Malthouse  Yard.”  She  had  composed  her- 
self to  go  through  this  task.  She  saw  there  was  nothing 
better  to  be  done.  After  the  resolutions  Harold  had  taken, 
some  sort  of  compromise  with  this  oddly-placed  heiress  was 
the  result  most  to  be  hoped  for  ; if  the  compromise  turned 
out  to  be  a marriage — well,  she  had  no  reason  to  care 
much  : she  was  already  powerless.  It  remained  to  be  seen 
what  this  girl  was. 

The  carriage  was  to  be  driven  round  the  back  way,  to 
avoid  too  much  observation.  But  the  late  election  affairs 
might  account  for  Mr.  Lyon’s  receiving  a visit  from  the 
unsuccessful  Radical  candidate. 


THE.  RADICAL. 


3°7 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

I also  could  speak  as  ye  do  ; if  your  soul  were  in  my  soul’s  stead,  I could  heap  up 
words  against  you,  and  shake  mine  head  at  you. — Book  of  Job. 

In  the  interval  since  Esther  parted  with  Felix  Holt  on  the 
day  of  the  riot,  she  had  gone  through  so  much  emotion,  and 
had  already  had  so  strong  a shock  of  surprise,  that  she  was 
prepared  to  receive  any  new  incident  of  an  unwonted  kind 
with  comparative  equanimity. 

When  Mr.  Lyon  had  got  home  again  from  his  preaching 
excursion,  Felix  was  already  on  his  way  to  Loamford  Jail. 
The  little  minister  was  terribly  shaken  by  the  news.  He 
saw  no  clear  explanation  of  Felix  Holt’s  conduct  ; for  the 
statements  Esther  had  heard  were  so  conflicting  that  she 
had  not  been  able  to  gather  distinctly  what  had  come  out  in 
the  examination  by  the  magistrates.  But  Mr.  Lyon  felt  con- 
fident that  Felix  was  innocent  of  any  wish  to  abet  a riot  or 
the  infliction  of  injuries  ; what  he  chiefly  feared  was  that 
in  the  fatal  encounter  with  Tucker  he  had  been  moved  by 
a rash  temper,  not  sufficiently  guarded  against  by  a prayer- 
ful and  humble  spirit. 

“ My  poor  young  friend  is  being  taught  with  mysterious 
severity  the  evil  of  a too  confident  self-reliance,”  he  said  to 
Esther,  as  they  sat  opposite  to  each  other,  listening  and 
speaking  sadly. 

“ You  will  go  and  see  him,  father  ? ” 

“Verily  will  I.  But  I must  straightway  go  and  see  that 
poor  afflicted  woman,  whose  soul  is  doubtless  whirled  about 
in  this  trouble  like  a shapeless  and  unstable  thing  driven  by 
divided  winds.”  Mr.  Lyon  rose  and  took  his  hat  hastily, 
ready  to  walk  out,  with  his  greatcoat  flying  open  and  expos- 
ing his  small  person  to  the  keen  air. 

“ Stay,  father,  pray,  till  you  have  had  some  food,”  said 
Esther,  putting  her  hand  on  his  arm.  “ You  look  quite 
weary  and  shattered/’ 

“ Child,  I Cannot  stay.  I can  neither  eat  bread  nor  drink 
water  till  I have  learned  more  about  this  young  man’s  deeds, 
what  can  be  proved  and  what  cannot  be  proved  against  him. 
I fear  he  has  none  to  stand  by  him  in  this  town,  for  even  by 
the  friends  of  our  church  I have  been  ofttimes  rebuked  be- 
cause he  seemed  dear  to  me.  But,  Esther,  my  beloved 
child ” 

Here  Mr.  Lyon  grasped  her  arm,  and  seemed  in  the  need 
of  speech  to  forget  his  previous  haste.  “ I bear  in  mind 
this  : the  Lord  knoweth  them  that  are  His  ; but  we — we  are 


Felix  holt, 


308 

left  to  judge  by  uncertain  signs,  that  so  we  may  learn  to  ex- 
ercise hope  and  faith  toward  one  another  ; and  in  this  un- 
certainty I cling  with  awful  hope  to  those  whom  the  world 
loves  not  because  their  conscience,  albeit  mistakenly,  is  at 
war  with  the  habits  of  the  world.  Our  great  faith,  my  Esther, 
is  the  faith  of  martyrs  : I will  not  lightly  turn  away  from  any 
man  who  endures  harshness  because  he  will  not  lie  ; nay, 
though  I would  not  wantonly  grasp  at  ease  of  mind  through 
an  arbitrary  choice  of  doctrine,  I cannot  but  believe  that  the 
merits  of  the  Divine  Sacrifice  are  wider  than  our  utmost  char- 
ity. I once  believed  otherwise — but  not  now,  not  now.” 

The  minister  paused,  and  seemed  to  be  abstractedly  gaz- 
ing at  some  memory  : he  was  always  liable  to  be  snatched 
away  by  thoughts  from  the  pursuit  of  a purpose  which  had 
seemed  pressing.  Esther  seized  the  opportunity  and  pre- 
vailed on  him  to  fortify  himself  with  some  of  Lyddy’s  por- 
ridge before  he  went  out  on  his  tiring  task  of  seeking  definite 
trustworthy  knowledge  from  the  lips  of  various  witnesses,  be- 
ginning with  that  feminine  darkener  of  counsel, poor  Mrs.  Holt. 

She,  regarding  all  her  trouble  about  Felix  in  the  light  of 
a fulfilment  of  her  own  prophecies,  treated  the  sad  history 
with  a preference  for  edification  .above  accuracy,  and  for 
mystery  above  relevance,  worthy  of  a commentator  on  the 
Apocalypse.  She  insisted  chiefly,  not  on  the  important 
facts  that  Felix  had  sat  at  his  work  till  after  eleven,  like  a 
deaf  man,  had  rushed  out  in  surprise  and  alarm,  had  come 
back  to  report  with  satisfaction  that  things  were  quiet,  and 
had  asked  her  to  set  by  his  dinner  for  him — facts  which 
would  tell  as  evidence  that  Felix  was  disconnected  with  any 
project  of  disturbances,  and  was  averse  to  them.  These 
things  came  out  incidentally  in  her  long  plaint  to  the  min- 
ister ; but  what  Mrs.  Holt  felt  it  essential  to  state  was,  that 
long  before  Michaelmas  was  turned,  sitting  in  her  chair,  she 
had  said  to  Felix  that  there  would  be  a judgment  on  him  for 
being  so  certain  sure  about  the  Pills  and  the  Elixir. 

“ And  now,  Mr.  Lyon,”  said  the  poor  woman,  who  had 
dressed  herself  in  a gown  previously  cast  off,  a front  all  out 
of  curl,  and  a cap  with  no  starch  in  it,  while  she  held  little 
coughing  Job  on  her  knee, — “ and  now  you  see — my  words 
have  come  true  sooner  than  I thought  they  would.  Felix 
may  contradict  me  if  he  will  ; but  there  he  is  in  prison,  and 
here  am  I,  with  nothing  in  the  world  to  bless  myself  with 
but  half-a-crown  a-week  as  I’ve  saved  by  my  own  scraping, 
and  this  house  Fve  got  to  pay  rent  for.  It’s  not  me  has 


THE  RADICAL. 


3°9 

done  wrong,  Mr.  Lyon  ; there’s  nobody  can  say  it  of  me — 
not  the  orphan  child  on  my  knee  is  more  innicent  o’  riot 
and  murder  and  anything  else  as  is  bad.  But  when  you’ve 
got  a son  so  masterful  and  stopping  medicines  as  Providence 
has  sent,  and  his  betters  have  been  taking  up  and  down  the 
country  since  before  he  was  a baby,  it’s  o’  no  use  being 
good  here  below.  But  he  was  a baby,  Mr.  Lyon,  and  I gave 
him  the  breast,” — here  poor  Mrs.  Holt’s  motherly  love  over- 
came her  expository  eagerness,  and  she  fell  more  and  more 
to  crying  as  she  spoke — “ And  to  think  there’s  folks  saying 
now  as  he’ll  be  transported,  and  his  hair  shaved  off,  and  the 
treadmill,  and  everything.  Oh,  dear  ! ” 

As  Mrs.  Holt  broke  off  into  sobbing,  little  Job  also,  who 
had  got  a confused  yet  profound  sense  of  sorrow,  and  of 
Felix  being  hurt  and  gone  away,  set  up  a little  wail  of  won- 
dering misery. 

“Nay,  Mistress  Holt,”  said  the  minister,  soothingly, 
“ enlarge  not  your  grief  by  more  than  warrantable  grounds. 
I have  good  hope  that  my  young  friend,  your  son,  will  be 
delivered  from  any  severe  consequences  beyond  the  death 
of  the  man  Tucker,  which  I fear  will  ever  be  a sore  burden 
on  his  memory.  I feel  confident  that  a jury  of  his  country- 
men will  discern  between  misfortune,  or  it  may  be  misjudg- 
ment,  and  an  evil  will,  and  that  he  will  be  acquitted  of  any 
grave  offence.” 

“He  never  stole  anything  in  his  life,  Mr.  Lyon,”  said  Mrs. 
Holt,  reviving.  “ Nobody  can  throw  it  in  my  face  as  my  son 
ran  away  with  money  like  the  young  man  at  the  bank — - 
though  he  looked  most  respectable,  and  far  different  on  a 
Sunday  to  what  Felix  ever  did.  And  I know  it’s  very  hard 
fighting  with  constables  ; but  they  say  Tucker’s  wife’ll  be  a 
deal  better  off  than  she  was  before,  for  the  great  folks’ll  pen- 
sion her,  and  she’ll  be  put  on  all  the  charities,  and  her 
children  at  the  Free  School,  and  everything.  Your  trouble’s 
easy  borne  when  everybody  gives  it  a lift  for  you ; and  if 
judge  and  jury  wants  to  do  right  by  Felix,  they’ll  think  of 
his  poor  mother,  with  the  bread  took  out  of  her  mouth,  all 
but  half-a-crown  a-week  and  furniture — which,  to  be  sure, 
is  most  excellent,  and  of  my  own  buying — and  got  to  keep 
this  orphin  child  as  Felix  himself  brought  on  me.  And  I 
might  send  him  back  to  his  old  grandfather  on  parish  pay, 
but  I’m  not  that  woman,  Mr.  Lyon  ; I’ve  a tender  heart. 
And  here’s  his  little  feet  and  toes,  like  marbil  ; do  but  look  ” 
— here  Mrs.  Holt  drew  off  Job’s  sock  and  shoe,  and  showed  a. 


3io 


FELIX  HOLT, 


well-washed  little  foot — “and  you’ll  perhaps  say  I might  take 
a lodger  ; but  it’s  easy  talking  ; it  isn’t  everybody  at  a loose- 
end  wants  a parlor  and  a bedroom  ; and  if  anything  bad  hap- 
pens to  Felix,  I may  as  well  go  and  sit  in  the  parish  pound, 
and  nobody  to  buy  me  out ; for  it’s  beyond  everything  how 
the  church  members  find  fault  with  my  son.  But  I think 
they  might  leave  his  mother  to  find  fault ; for  queer  and 
masterful  he  might  be,  and  flying  in  the  face  of  the  very 
Scripture  about  the  physic,  but  he  was  most  clever  beyond 
anything — that  I will  say — and  was  his  own  father’s  lawful 
child,  and  me  his  mother,  that  was  Mary  Wall  thirty 
years  before  ever  I married  his  father.”  Here  Mrs.  Holt’s 
feelings  again  became  too  much  for  her,  but  she  struggled  on 
tosay,  sobbingly,  “And  if  they’re  to  transport  him,  I should 
like  to  go  to  the  prison  and  take  the  orphin  child  ; for  he 
was  most  fond  of  having  him  on  his  lap,  and  said  he’d  never 
marry  ; and  there  was  One  above  overheard  him,  for  he’s 
been  took  at  his  word.” 

Mr.  Lyon  listened  with  low  groans,  and  then  tried  to  com- 
fort her  by  saying  that  he  would  himself  go  to  Loamford  as 
soon  as  possible,  and  would  give  his  soul  no  rest  till  he  had 
done  all  he  could  do  for  Felix. 

On  one  point  Mrs.  Holt’s  plaint  tallied  with  his  own  fore- 
bodings, and  he  found  them  verified  : the  state  of  feeling  in 
Treby  among  the  Liberal  Dissenting  flock  was  unfavorable 
to  Felix.  None  who  had  observed  his  conduct  from  the 
windows  saw  anything  tending  to  excuse  him,  and  his  own 
account  of  his  motives,  given  on  his  examination,  was  spoken 
of  with  head-shaking  ; if  it  had  not  been  for  his  habit  of 
always  thinking  himself  wiser  than  other  people,  he  would 
never  have  entertained  such  a wild  scheme.  He  had  set 
himself  up  for  something  extraordinary,  and  had  spoken  ill 
of  respectable  trades-people.  He  had  put  a stop  to  the 
making  of  saleable  drugs,  contrary  to  the  nature  of  buying 
and  selling,  and  to  a due  reliance  on  what  Providence  might 
effect  in  the  human  inside  through  the  instrumentality  of 
remedies  unsuitable  to  the  stomach,  looked  at  in  a merely 
secular  light ; and  the  result  was  what  might  have  been 
expected.  He  had  brought  his  mother  to  poverty,  and  him- 
self into  trouble.  And  what  for  ? He  had  done  no  good 
to  “the  cause”  ; if  he  had  fought  about  Church-rates,  or 
had  been  worsted  in  some  struggle  in  which  he  was  dis- 
tinctly the  champion  of  Dissent  and  Liberalism,  his  case 
would  have  been  one  for  gold,  silver,  and  copper  subscrip- 


THE  RADICAL. 


3ir 

tions,  in  order  to  procure  the  best  defence;  sermons  might 
have  been  preached  on  him,  and  his  name  might  have  floated 
on  flags  from  Newcastle  to  Dorchester.  But  there  seemed 
to  be  no  edification  in  what  had  befallen  Felix.  The  riot  at 
Treby,  “turn  it  which  way  you  would,”  as  Mr.  Muscat 
observed,  was  no  great  credit  to  Liberalism  ; and  what  Mr. 
Lyon  had  to  testify  as  to  Felix  Holt’s  conduct  in  the  matter 
of  the  Sproxton  men,  only  made  it  clear  that  the  defence  of 
Felix  was  the  accusation  of  his  party.  The  whole  affair,  Mr. 
Nuttwood  said,  was  dark  and  inscrutable,  and  seemed  not 
to  be  one  in  which  the  interference  of  God’s  servants  would 
tend  to  give  the  glory  where  the  glory  was  due.  That  a 
candidate  for  whom  the  richer  church  members  had  all 
voted  should  have  his  name  associated  with  the  encourage- 
ment of  drunkenness,  riot,  and  plunder,  was  an  occasion  for 
the  enemy  to  blaspheme  ; and  it  was  not  clear  how  the 
enemy’s  mouth  would  be  stopped  by  exertions  in  favor  of  a 
rash  young  man,  whose  interference  had  made  things  worse 
instead  of  better.  Mr.  Lyon  was  warned  lest  his  human 
partialities  should  blind  him  to  the  interests  of  truth  : it 
was  God’s  cause  that  was  endangered  in  this  matter. 

The  little  minister’s  soul  was  bruised  ; he  himself  was 
keenly  alive  to  the  complication  of  public  and  private  re- 
gards in  this  affair,  and  suffered  a good  deal  at  the  thought 
of  Tory  triumph  in  the  demonstration  that,  excepting  the 
attack  on  the  Seven  Stars,  which  called  itself  a Whig  house, 
all  damage  to  property  had  been  borne  by  Tories.  He  cared 
intensely  for  his  opinions,  and  would  have  liked  events  to 
speak  for  them  in  a sort  of  picture-writing  that  everybody 
could  understand.  The  enthusiasms  of  the  world  are  not  to 
be  stimulated  by  a commentary  in  small  and  subtle  charac- 
ters which  alone  can  tell  the  whole  truth  ; and  the  picture 
writing  in  Felix  Holt’s  troubles  was  of  an  entirely  puzzling 
kind:  if  he  were  a martyr,  neither  side  wanted  to  claim  him. 
Yet  the  minister,  as  we  have  seen,  found  in  his  Christian 
faith  a reason  for  clinging  the  more  to  one  who  had  not  a 
large  party  to  back  him.  That  little  man’s  heart  was  heroic; 
he  was  not  one  of  those  Liberals  who  make  their  anxiety  for 
“ the  cause  ” of  Liberalism  a plea  for  cowardly  desertion. 

Besides  himself,  he  believed  there  was  no  one  who  could  bear 
testimony  to  the  remonstrances  of  Felix  concerning  the 
treating  of  the  Sproxton  men,  except  Jermyn,  Johnson,  and 
Harold  Transome.  Though  he  had  the  vaguest  idea  of  what 
could  be  done  in  the  case,  he  fixed  his  mind  on  the  proba- 


312 


FELIX  HOLT, 


bility  that  Mr.  Transome  would  be  moved  to  the  utmost  ex- 
ertion, if  only  as  an  atonement;  but  he  dared  not  take  any 
step  until  he  had  consulted  Felix,  who  he  foresaw  was  likely 
to  have  a very  strong  determination  as  to  the  help  he  would 
accept  or  not  accept. 

This  last  expectation  was  fulfilled.  Mr.  Lyon  returned 
to  Esther,  after  his  day’s  journey  to  Loamford  and  back, 
with  less  of  trouble  and  perplexity  in  his  mind : he  had  at 
least  got  a definite  course  marked  out,  to  which  he  must 
resign  himself.  Felix  had  declared  that  he  would  receive 
no  aid  from  Harold  Transome,  except  the  aid  he  might  give 
as  an  honest  witness.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done  for 
him  but  what  was  perfectly  simple  and  direct.  Even  if  the 
pleading  of  counsel  had  been  permitted  (and  at  that  time  it 
was  not)  on  behalf  of  a prisoner  on  trial  for  felony,  Felix 
would  have  declined  it:  he  would  in  any  case  have  spoken 
in  his  own  defence.  He  had  a perfectly  simple  account  to 
give,  and  needed  not  to  avail  himself  of  any  legal  adroit- 
ness. He  consented  to  accept  the  services  of  a respectable 
solicitor  in  Loamford,  who  offered  to  conduct  his  case  with- 
out any  fees.  The  work  was  plain  and  easy,  Felix  said. 
The  only  witnesses  who  had  to  be  hunted  up  at  all  were 
some  who  could  testify  that  he  had  tried  to  take  the  crowd 
down  Hobb’s  Lane,  and  that  they  had  gone  to  the  Manor  in 
spite  of  him. 

“ Then  he  is  not  so  much  cast  down  as  you  feared, 
father?”  said  Esther. 

“ No,  child;  albeit  he  is  pale  and  much  shaken  for  one  so 
stalwart.  He  hath  no  grief,  he  says,  save  for  the  poor  man 
Tucker,  and  for  his  mother;  otherwise  his  heart  is  without 
a burden.  We  discoursed  greatly  on  the  sad  effect  of  all 
this  for  his  mother,  and  on  the  perplexed  condition  of  human 
things,  whereby  even  right  action  seems  to  bring  evil  con- 
sequences, if  we  have  respect  only  to  our  own  brief  lives, 
and  not  to  that  larger  rule  whereby  we  are  stewards  of  the 
eternal  dealings,  and  not  contrivers  of  our  own  success.” 

“Did  he  say  nothing  about  me,  father?”  said  Esther, 
trembling  a little,  but  unable  to  repress  her  egoism. 

“ Yes  ; he  asked  if  you  were  well,  and  sent  his  affectionate 
regards.  Nay,  he  bade  me  say  something  which  appears  to 
refer  to  your  discourse  together  when  I was  not  present. 
‘ Tell  her,’  he  said,  ‘ whatever  they  sentence  me  to,  she  knows 
they  can’t  rob  me  of  my  vocation.  With  poverty  for  my 
bride,  and  preaching  and  pedagoguy  for  my  business,  I am 


THE  RADICAL.  313 

sure  of  a handsome  establishment.’  He  laughed — doubtless 
bearing  in  mind  some  playfulness  of  thine.” 

Mr.  Lyon  seemed  to  be  looking  at  Esther  as  he  smiled, 
but  she  was  not  near  enough  for  him  to  discern  the  expres- 
sion of  her  face.  Just  then  it  seemed  made  for  melancholy 
rather  than  for  playfulness.  Hers  was  not  a childish  beauty  ; 
and  when  the  sparkle  of  mischief,  wit  and  vanity  was  out  of 
her  eyes,  and  the  large  look  of  abstracted  sorrow  was  there, 
you  would  have  been  surprised  by  a certain  grandeur  which 
the  smiles  had  hidden.  That  changing  face  was  the  perfect 
symbol  of  her  mixed  susceptible  nature,  in  which  battle  was 
inevitable,  and  the  side  of  victory  uncertain. 

She  began  to  look  on  all  that  had  passed  between  herself 
and  Felix  as  something  not  buried,  but  embalmed  and  kept 
as  a relic  in  a private  sanctuary.  The  very  entireness  of  her 
preoccupation  about  him,  the  perpetual  repetition  in  her 
memory  of  all  that  had  passed  between  them,  tended  to  pro- 
duce this,  effect.  She  lived  with  him  in  the  past;  in  the 
future  she  seemed  shut  out  from  him.  He  was  an  influence 
above  her  life,  rather  than  a part  of  it ; some  time  or  other, 
perhaps,  he  would  be  to  her  as  if  he  belonged  to  the  solemn 
admonishing  skies,  checking  her  self-satisfied  pettiness  with 
the  suggestion  of  a wider  life. 

But  not  yet — not  while  her  trouble  was  so  fresh.  For  it 
was  still  her  trouble,  and  not  Felix  Holt’s.  Perhaps  it  was 
a subtraction  from  his  power  over  her,  that  she  could  never 
think  of  him  with  pity,  because  he  always  seemed  to  her  too 
great  and  strong  to  be  pitied  ; he  wanted  nothing.  He 
evaded  calamity  by  choosing  privation.  The  best  part  of  a 
woman’s  love  is  worship  ; but  it  is  hard  to  her  to  be  sent 
away  with  her  precious  spikenard  rejected,  and  her  long 
tresses  too,  that  were  let  fall  ready  to  soothe  the  wearied  feet. 

While  Esther  was  carrying  these  things  in  her  heart,  the 
January  days  were  beginning  to  pass  by  with  their  wonted 
wintry  monotony,  except  that  there  was  rather  more  of  good 
cheer  than  usual  remaining  from  the  feast  of  Twelfth  Night 
among  the  triumphant  Tories,  and  rather  more  scandal  than 
usual  excited  among  the  mortified  Dissenters  by  the  wilful- 
ness of  their  minister.  He  had  actually  mentioned  Felix 
Holt  by  name  in  his  evening  sermon,  and  offered  up  a peti- 
tion for  him  in  the  evening  prayer,  also  by  name — not  as  “a 
young  Ishmaelite,  whom  he  would  fain  see  brought  back 
from  the  lawless  life  of  the  desert,  and  seated  in  the  same 
fold  even  with  the  sons  of  Judah  and  of  Benjamin,”  a suit- 


3i4 


FELIX  HOLT, 


able  periphrasis  which  Brother  Kemp  threw  off  without  any 
effort,  and  with  all  the  felicity  of  a suggestive  critic.  Poor 
Mrs.  Holt,  indeed,  even  in  the  midst  of  her  grief,  experi- 
enced a proud  satisfaction ; that  though  she  was  not  a 
church  member  she  was  now  an  object  of  congregational 
remark  and  ministerial  allusion.  Feeling  herself  a spotless 
character  standing  out  in  relief  on  a dark  background  of 
affliction,  and  a practical  contradiction  to  that  extreme 
doctrine  of  human  depravity  which  she  had  never  “ given  in 
to,”  she  was  naturally  gratified  and  soothed  by  a notice 
which  must  be  a recognition.  But  more  influential  hearers 
were  of  opinion,  that  in  a man  who  had  so  many  long 
sentences  at  command  as  Mr.  Lyon,  so  many  parentheses 
and  modifying  clauses,  this  naked  use  of  a non -scriptural 
Treby  name  in  an  address  to  the  Almighty  was  all  the  more 
offensive.  In  a low  unlettered  local  preacher  of  the  Wesleyan 
persuasion  such  things  might  pass  ; but  a certain  style  in 
prayer  was  demanded  from  Independents,  the  most  educated 
body  in  the  ranks  of  orthodox  Dissent.  To  Mr.  Lyon  such 
notions  seemed  painfully  perverse,  and  the  next  morning  he 
was  declaring  to  Esther  his  resolution  stoutly  to  withstand 
them,  and  to  count  nothing  common  or  unclean  on  which  a 
blessing  could  be  asked,  when  the  tenor  of  his  thoughts  was 
completely  changed  by  a great  shock  of  surprise  which  made 
both  himself  and  Esther  sit  looking  at  each  other  in  speech- 
less amazement. 

The  cause  was  a letter  brought  by  a special  messenger 
from  Duffield  ; a heavy  letter  addressed  to  Esther  in  a busi- 
ness-like manner,  quite  unexampled  in  her  correspondence. 
And  the  contents  of  the  letter  were  more  startling  than  its 
exterior.  It  began  : 

Madam, — Herewith  we  send  you  a brief  abstract  of  evidence  which 
has  come  within  our  knowledge,  that  the  right  of  remainder  whereby  the 
lineal  issue  of  Edward  Bycliffe  can  claim  possession  of  the  estates  of  which 
the  entail  was  settled  by  John  Justus  Transome  in  1729,  now  first  accrues 
to  you  as  the  sole  and  lawful  issue  of  Maurice  Christian  Bycliffe.  We  aie 
confident  of  success  in  the  prosecution  of  this  claim,  which  will  result  to 
you  in  the  possession  of  estates  to  the  value,  at  the  lowest,  of  from  five  to 
six  thousand  per  annum 

It  was  at  this  point  that  Esther,  who  was  reading  aloud, 
let  her  hand  fall  with  the  letter  on  her  lap,  and  with  a pal- 
pitating heart  looked  at  her  father,  who  looked  again  in  si- 
lence that  lasted  for  two  or  three  minutes.  A certain  terror 
was  upon  them  both,  though  the  thoughts  that  laid  that 
weight  on  the  tongue  of  each  were  different. 


THE  RADICAL. 


315 

It  was  Mr.  Lyon  who  spoke  first, 

“ This,  then,  is  what  the  man  named  Christian  referred  to. 
I distrusted  him,  yet  it  seems  he  spoke  truly.” 

“ But,”  said  Esther,  whose  imagination  ran  necessarily  to 
those  conditions  of  wealth  which  she  could  best  appreciate, 
“ Do  they  mean  that  the  Transomes  would  be  turned  out  of 
Transome  Court,  and  that  I should  go  and  live  there  ? 
It  seems  quite  an  impossible  thing.” 

“ Nay,  child,  I know  not.  I am  ignorant  in  these  things, 
and  the  thought  of  worldly  grandeur  for  you  hath  more  of 
terror  than  of  gladness  for  me.  Nevertheless  we  must  duly 
weigh  all  things,  not  considering  aught  that  befalls  us  as  a 
bare  event,  but  rather  as  an  occasion  for  faithful  stewardship. 
Let  us  go  to  my  study  and  consider  this  writing  further.” 

How  this  announcement,  which  to  Esther  seemed  as  unpre- 
pared as  if  it  had  fallen  from  the  skies,  came  to  be  made  to 
her  by  solicitors  other  than  Batt  & Cowley,  the  old  lawyers 
of  the  Bycliffes,  was  by  a sequence  as  natural,  that  is  to  say, 
as  legally  natural,  as  any  in  the  world.  The  secret  worker 
of  the  apparent  wonder  was  Mr.  Johnson,  who,  on  the  very 
day  when  he  wrote  to  give  his  patron,  Mr.  Jermyn,  the  seri- 
ous warning  that  a bill  was  likely  to  be  filed  in  Chancery 
against  him,  had  carried  forward  with  added  zeal  the  busi- 
ness already  commenced,  of  arranging  with  another  firm  his 
share  in  the  profits  likely  to  result  from  the  prosecution  of 
Esther  Bycliffe’s  claim. 

Jermyn’s  star  was  certainly  going  down,  and  Johnson  did 
not  feel  an  unmitigated  grief.  Beyond  some  troublesome 
declarations  as  to  his  actual  share  in  transactions  in  which 
his  name  had  been  used,  Johnson  saw  nothing  formidable  in 
prospect  for  himself.  He  was  not  going  to  be  ruined,  though 
Jermyn  probably  was  : he  was  not  a high-flyer,  but  a mere 
climbing-bird,  who  could  hold  on  and  get  his  livelihood  just 
as  well  if  his  wings  were  clipped  a little.  And,  in  the  mean- 
time, here  was  something  to  be  gained  in  this  Bycliffe  busi- 
ness, which,  it  was  not  unpleasant  to  think,  was  a nut  that 
Jermyn  had  intended  to  keep  for  his  own  particular  crack- 
ing, and  which  would  be  rather  a severe  astonishment  to 
Mr.  Harold  Transome,  whose  manners  towards  respectable 
agents  were  such  as  leave  a smart  in  a man  of  spirit. 

Under  the  stimulus  of  small  many-mixed  motives  like 
these,  a great  deal  of  business  has  been  done  in  the  world  by 
well-clad  and,  in  1833,  clean-shaven  men,  whose  names  are 
on  charity  lists,  and  who  do  not  know  that  they  are  base. 


316  FELIX  HOLT, 

Mr.  Johnson’s  character  was  not  much  more  exceptional 
than  his  double  chin. 

No  system,  religious  or  political,  I believe,  has  laid  it  down 
as  a principle  that  all  men  are  alike  virtuous,  or  even  that  all 
the  people  rated  for  ^80  houses  are  an  honor  to  their 
species. 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

The  down  we  rest  on  in  our  aery  dreams 

Has  not  been  plucked  from  birds  that  live  and  smart : 

’Tis  but  warm  snow,  that  melts  not. 

The  story  and  the  prospect  revealed  to  Esther  by  the  law- 
yer’s letter,  which  she  and  her  father  studied  together,  had 
made  an  impression  on  her  very  different  from  what  she  had 
been  used  to  figure  to  herself  in  her  many  day-dreams  as  to 
the  effect  of  a sudden  elevation  in  rank  and  fortune.  In  her 
day-dreams  she  had  not  traced  out  the  means  by  which  such 
a change  could  be  brought  about  ; in  fact,  the  change  had 
seemed  impossible  to  her,  except  in  her  little  private  Utopia, 
which,  like  other  Utopias,  was  filled  with  delightful  results, 
independent  of  processes.  But  her  mind  had  fixed  itself 
habitually  on  the  signs  and  luxuries  of  ladyhood,  for  which 
she  had  the  keenest  perception.  She  had  seen  the  very  mat 
in  her  carriage,  had  scented  the  dried  rose-leaves  in  her  cor- 
ridors, had  felt  the  soft  carpet  under  her  pretty  feet,  and 
seen  herself,  as  she  rose  from  her  sofa  cushions,  in  the  crystal 
panel  that  reflected  a long  drawing-room, where  the  conserva- 
tory flowers  and  the  pictures  of  fair  women  left  her  still  with 
the  supremacy  of  charm.  She  had  trodden  the  marble-firm 
gravel  of  her  garden-walks  and  the  soft  deep  turf  of  her  lawn; 
she  had  had  her  servants  about  her  filled  with  adoring  re- 
spect, because  of  her  kindness  as  well  as  her  grace  and 
beauty  ; but  she  had  had  several  accomplished  cavaliers  all 
at  once  sueing  for  her  hand — one  of  whom,  uniting  very  high 
birth  with  long  dark  eye-lashes  and  the  most  distinguished 
talents,  she  secretly  preferred,  though  his  pride  and  hers 
hindered  an  avowal,  and  supplied  the  inestimable  interest  of 
retardation.  The  glimpses  she  had  had  in  her  brief  life  as  a 
family  governess,  supplied  her  ready  faculty  with  details 
enough  of  delightful  still  life  to  furnish  her  day-dreams  ; and 
no  one  who  has  not,  like  Esther,  a strong  natural  prompting 
and  susceptibility  toward  such  things,  and  has  at  the  same 
time  suffered  from  the  presence  of  opposite  conditions, can  un- 
derstand how  powerfully  those  minor  accidents  of  rank  which 
please  the  fastidious  sense  can  preoccupy  the  imagination. 


The  radical.  317 

It  seemed  that  almost  everything  in  her  day-dreams — 
cavaliers  apart — must  be  found  at  Transome  Court.  But 
now  that  fancy  was  becoming  real,  and  the  impossible 
appeared  possible,  Esther  found  the  balance  of  her  attention 
reversed  : now  that  her  ladyhood  was  not  simply  in  Utopia, 
she  found  herself  arrested  and  painfully  grasped  by  the 
means  through  which  the  ladyhood,  was  to  be  obtained.  To 
her  inexperience  this  strange  story  of  an  alienated  inheri- 
tance, of  such  a last  representative  of  pure-blooded  lineage  as 
old  Thomas  Transome  the  bill-sticker,  above  all  of  the  dis- 
possession hanging  over  those  who  actually  held,  and  had 
expected  always  to  hold,  the  wealth  and  position  which 
were  suddenly  announced  to  be  rightly  hers— all  these  things 
made  a picture,  not  for  her  own  tastes  and  fancies  to  float  in 
with  Elysian  indulgence,  but  in  which  she  was  compelled  to 
gaze  on  the  degrading  hard  experience  of  other  human 
beings,  and  on  a humiliating  loss  which  was  the  obverse  of 
her  own  proud  gain.  Even  in  her  times  of  most  untroubled 
egoism,  Esther  shrank  from  anything  ungenerous  ; and  the 
fact  that  she  had  a very  lively  image  of  Harold  Transome 
and  his  gypsy-eyed  boy  in  her  mind,  gave  additional  distinct- 
ness to  the  thought  that  if  she  entered  they  must-  depart. 
Of  the  elder  Transomes  she  had  a dimmer  vision,  and  they 
were  necessarily  in  the  background  to  her  sympathy. 

She  and  her  father  sat  with  their  hands  locked,  as  they 
might  have  done  if  they  had  been  listening  to  a solemn 
oracle  in  the  days  of  old  revealing  unknown  kinship  and 
rightful  heirdom.  It  was  not  that  Esther  had  any  thought 
of  renouncing  her  fortune  ; she  was  incapable,  in  these 
moments,  of  condensing  her  vague  ideas  and  feelings  into 
any  distinct  plan  of  action,  nor  indeed  did  it  seem  that  she 
was  called  upon  to  act  with  any  promptitude.  It  was  only 
that  she  was  conscious  of  being  strangely  awed  by  some- 
thing that  was  called  good  fortune  ; and  the  awe  shut  out 
any  scheme  of  rejection  as  much  as  any  triumphant  joy  in 
acceptance.  Her  father,  she  learned,  had  died  disap- 
pointed and  in  wrongful  imprisonment,  and  an  undefined 
sense  of  Nemesis  seemed  half  to  sanctify  her  inheritance, 
and  counteract  its  apparant  arbitrariness. 

Felix  Holt  was  present  in  her  mind  throughout  ; what 
he  would  say  was  an  imaginary  commentary  that  she  was 
constantly  framing,  and  the  words  that  she  most  frequently 
gave  him — for  she  dramatized  under  the  inspiration  of  a 
sadness  slightly  bitter — were  of  this  kind  : “ That  is  clearly 


FELIX  HOLT, 


318 

your  destiny — to  be  aristocratic,  to  be  rich.  I always  -saw 
that  our  lots  lay  widely  apart.  You  are  not  fit  for  poverty, 
or  any  work  of  difficulty.  But  remember  what  I once  said 
to  you  about  a vision  of  consequences  ; take  care  where 
your  fortune  leads  you.” 

Her  father  had  not  spoken  since  they  had  ended  their 
study  and  discussion  of  the  story  and  the  evidence  as  it  was 
presented  to  them.  Into  this  he  had  entered  with  his  usual 
penetrating  activity  ; but  he  was  so  accustomed  to  the 
impersonal  study  of  narrative,  that  even  in  these  exceptional 
moments  the  habit  of  half  a century  asserted  itself,  and  he 
seemed  sometimes  not  to  distinguish  the  case  of  Esther’s 
inheritance  from  a story  in  ancient  history,  until  some  detail 
recalled  him  to  the  profound  feeling  that  a great,  great 
change  might  be  coming  over  the  life  of  this  child  who  was 
so  close  to  him.  At  last  lie  relapsed  into  total  silence,  and 
for  some  time  Esther  was  not  moved  to  interrupt  it.  He 
had  sunk  back  in  his  chair  with  his  hand  locked  in  hers, 
and  was  pursuing  a sort  of  prayerful  meditation  : he  lifted 
up  no  formal  petition,  but  it  was  as  if  his  soul  travelled 
again  over  the  facts  he  had  been  considering  in  the  company 
of  a guide  ready  to  inspire  and  correct  him.  He  was  striv- 
ing to  purify  his  feeling  in  this  matter  from  selfish  or 
worldly  dross — a striving  which  is  that  prayer  without 
ceasing,  sure  to  wrest  an  answer  by  its  sublime  importunity. 

There  is  no  knowing  how  long  they  might  have  sat  in 
this  way,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  inevitable  Lyddy 
reminding  them  dismally  of  dinner. 

“ Yes,  Lyddy,  we  come,”  said  Esther  : and  then,  before 
moving — 

“ Is  there  any  advice  you  have  in  your  mind  forme,  father  ?” 
The  sense  of  awe  was  growing  in  Esther.  Her  intensest  life 
was  no  longer  in  her  dreams,  where  she  made  things  to  her 
own  mind  : she  was  moving  in  a world  charged  with  forces. 

“ Not  yet,  my  dear — save  this  ; that  you  will  seek  special 
illumination  in  this  juncture,  and,  above  all,  be  watchful 
that  your  soul  be  not  lifted  up  within  you  by  what,  rightly 
considered,  is  rather  an  increase  of  charge,  and  a call  upon 
you  to  walk  along  a path  which  is  indeed  easy  to  the  flesh, 
but  dangerous  to  the  spirit.” 

“ You  would  always  live  with  me,  father  ? ” Esther  said, 
under  a strong  impulse — partly  affection,  partly  the  need  to 
grasp  at  some  moral  help.  But  she  had  no  sooner  uttered 
the  words  than  they  raised  a vision,  showing,  as  by  a flash 


THE  RADICAL. 


ol9 


of  lightning,  the  incongruity  of  that  past  which  had  created 
the  sanctities  and  affections  of  her  life  with  that  future  which 

was  coming  to  her The  little  rusty  old  minister,  with 

the  one  luxury  of  his  Sunday  evening  pipe,  smoked  up  the 
kitchen  chimney,  coming  to  live  in  the  midst  of  grandeur 

but  no  ! her  father,  with  the  grandeur  of  his  past  sorrow 

and  his  long  struggling  labors,  forsaking  his  vocation,  and 

vulgarly  accepting  an  existence  unsuited  to  him. Esther’s 

face  flushed  with  the  excitement  of  this  vision  and  its  re- 
versed interpretation,  which  five  months  ago  she  would  have 
been  incapable  of  seeing.  Her  question  to  her  father  seemed 
like  a mockery  ; she  was  ashamed.  He  answered  slowly — 

“ Touch  not  that  chord  yet,  my  child.  I must  learn  to 
think  of  thy  lot  according  to  the  demands  of  Providence. 
We  will  rest  a while  from  the  subject  ; and  I will  seek  calm- 
ness in  my  ordinary  duties.” 

The  next  morning  nothing  more  was  said.  Mr.  Lyon  was 
absorbed  in  his  sermon-making,  for  it  was  near  the  end  of 
the  week,  and  Esther  was  obliged  to  attend  to  her  pupils. 
Mrs.  Holt  came  by  invitation  with  little  Job  to  share  their 
dinner  of  roast-meat ; and,  after  much  of  what  the  minister 
called  unprofitable  discourse,  she  was  quitting  the  house 
when  she  hastened  back  with  an  astonished  face,  to  tell  Mr. 
Lyon  and  Esther,  who  were  already  in  wonder  at  crashing, 
thundering  sounds  on  the  pavement,  that  there  was  a car- 
riage stopping  and  stamping  at  the  entry  into  Malthouse 
Yard,  with  “ all  sorts  of  fine  liveries,”  and  a lady  and  gentle- 
man inside.  Mr.  Lyon  and  Esther  looked  at  each  other, 
both  having  the  same  name  in  their  minds. 

“ If  it’s  Mr.  Transome  or  somebody  else  as  is  great,  Mr. 
Lyon,”  urged  Mrs.  Holt,  “ you’ll  remember  my  son,  and  say 
he’s  got  a mother  with  a character  they  may  enquire  into  as 
much  as  they  like.  And  never  mind  what  Felix  says,  for 
he’s  so  masterful  he’d  stay  in  prison  and  be  transported 
whether  or  no,  only  to  have  his  own  way.  For  it’s  not  to  be 
thought  but  what  the  great  people  could  get  him  off  if  they 
would  ; and  it’s  very  hard  with  a King  in  the  country  and 
all  the  texts  in  Proverbs  about  the  King’s  countenance,  and 
Solomon  and  the  live  baby ” 

Mr.  Lyon  lifted  up  his  hand  deprecatingly,  and  Mrs.  Holt 
retreated  from  the  parlor-door  to  a corner  of  the  kitchen, 
the  outer  doorway  being  occupied  by  Dominic,  who  was 
enquiring  if  Mr.  and  Miss  Lyon  were  at  home,  and  could 
receive  Mrs.  Transome  and  Mr.  Harold  Transome.  While 


320 


FELIX  HOLT, 


Dominic  went  back  to  the  carriage  Mrs.  Holt  escaped  with 
her  tiny  companion  to  Zachary’s,  the  new  pew-opener, 
observing  to  Lyddy  that  she  knew  herself,  and  was  not  that 
woman  to  stay  where  she  might  not  be  wanted  • whereupon 
Lyddy,  differing  fundamentally,  admonished  her  parting  ear 
that  it  was  well  if  she  knew  herself  to  be  dust  and  ashes — 
silently  extending  the  application  of  this  remark  to  Mrs. 
Transome,  as  she  saw  the  tall  lady  sweep  in  arrayed  in  her 
rich  black  and  fur,  with  that  fine  gentleman  behind  her  whose 
thick  top-knot  of  wavy  hair,  sparkling  ring,  dark  complexion, 
and  general  air  of  worldly  exaltation  unconnected  with 
chapel,  were  painfully  suggestive  to  Lyddy  of  Herod,  Pon- 
tius Pilate,  or  the  much-quoted  Gallio. 

Harold  Transome,  greeting  Esther  gracefully,  presented 
his  mother,  whose  eagle-like  glance,  fixed  on  her  from  the 
first  moment  of  entering,  seemed  to  Esther  to  pierce  her 
through.  Mrs.  Transome  hardly  noticed  Mr.  Lyon,  not  from 
studied  haughtiness,  but  from  sheer  mental  inability  to  con- 
sider him — as  a person  ignorant  of  natural  history  is  unable 
to  consider  a fresh-water  polyp  otherwise  than  as  a sort  of 
animated  weed,  certainly  not  fit  for  table.  But  Harold  saw 
that  his  mother  was  agreeably  struck  by  Esther,  who  indeed 
showed  to  much  advantage.  She  was  not  at  all  taken  by 
surprise,  and  maintained  a dignified  quietude ; but  her  pre- 
vious knowledge  and  reflection  about  the  possible  dispos- 
session of  these  Transomes  gave  her  a softened  feeling  to- 
ward them  which  tinged  her  manners  very  agreeably. 

Harold  was  carefully  polite  to  the  minister,  throwing  out 
a word  to  make  him  understand  that  he  had  an  important 
part. in  the  important  business  which  had  brought  this  un- 
announced visit  ; and  the  four  made  a group  seated  not  far 
off  each  other  near  the  window,  Mrs.  Transome  and  Esther 
being  on  the  sofa. 

“You  must  be  astonished  at  a visit  from  me,  Miss  Lyon,” 
Mrs.  Transome  began;  “I  seldom  come  to  Treby  Magna. 
Now  I see  you,  the  visit  is  an  unexpected  pleasure  ; but  the 
cause  of  my  coming  is  business  of  a serious  nature,  which 
my  son  will  communicate  to  you.” 

“ I ought  to  begin  by  saying  that  what  I have  to  announce 
to  you  is  the  reverse  of  disagreeable,  Miss  Lyon,”  said  Harold, 
with  lively  ease.  “I  don’t  suppose  the  world  would  consider 
it  very  good  news  for  me  ; but  a rejected  candidate,  Mr.  Lyon,” 
Harold  went  on,  turning  graciously  to  the  minister,  “ begins 
to  be  inured  to  loss  and  misfortune.” 


THE  RADICAL. 


321 


“ Truly,  sir/*  said  Mr.  Lyon,  with  a rather  sad  solemnity, 
“ your  allusion  hath  a grievous  bearing  for  me,  but  I will  not 
retard  your  present  purpose  by  further  remark.” 

“You  will  never  guess  what  I have  to  disclose,”  said 
Harold,  again  looking  at  Esther,  “ unless,  indeed,  you  have 
already  had ‘some  previous  intimation  of  it.” 

“ Does  it  refer  to  law  and  inheritance  ? ” said  Esther,  with 
a smile.  She  was  already  brightened  by  Harold’s  manner. 
The  news  seemed  to  be  losing  its  chillness,  and  to  be  some- 
thing really  belonging  to  warm,  comfortable,  interesting  life. 

“Then  you  have  already  heard  of  it?”  said  Harold,  in- 
wardly vexed,  but  sufficiently  prepared  not  to  seem  so. 

“ Only  yesterday,”  said  Esther,  quite  simply,  “ I received 
a letter  from  some  lawyers  with  a statement  of  many  sur- 
prising things,  showing  that  I was  an  heiress  ” — here  she 
turned  very  prettily  to  address  Mrs.  Transome — “ which,  as 
you  may  imagine,  is  one  of  the  last  things  I could  have  sup- 
posed myself  to  be.” 

“ My  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Transome  with  elderly  grace,  just 
laying  her  hand  for  an  instant  on  Esther’s,  “ it  is  a lot  that 
would  become  you  admirably.” 

Esther  blushed,  and  said  playfully : 

“ Oh,  I know  what  to  buy  with  fifty  pounds  a-year,  but  I 
know  the  price  of  nothing  beyond  that.” 

Her  father  sat  looking  at  her  through  his  spectacles,  strok- 
ing his  chin.  It  was  amazing  to  herself  that  she  was  taking  so 
lightly  now  what  had  caused  her  such  deep  emotion  yesterday. 

“I  dare  say,  then,”  said  Harold,  “you  are  more  fully  pos- 
sessed of  particulars  than  I am.  So  that  my  mother  and  I need 
only  tell  you  what  no  one  else  can  tell  you — that  is,  what 
are  her  and  my  feelings  and  wishes  under  these  new  and  un- 
expected circumstances.” 

“ I am  most  anxious,”  said  Esther,  with  a grave  beautiful 
look  of  respect  to  Mrs.  Transome — “most  anxious  on  that 
point.  Indeed,  being  of  course  in  uncertainty  about  it,  I 
have  not  yet  known  whether  I could  rejoice.”  Mrs.  Tran- 
some’s  glance  had  softened.  She  liked  Esther  to  look  at  her. 

“Our  chief  anxiety,”  she  said,  knowing  what  Harold 
wished  her  to  say,  “ is,  that  there  may  be  no  contest,  no  use- 
less expenditure  of  money.  Of  course  we  will  surrender 
what  can  be  rightfully  claimed.” 

“ My  mother  expresses  our  feeling  precisely,  Miss  Lyon,” 
said  Harold.  “ And  I’m  sure,  Mr.  Lyon,  you  will  under- 
stand our  desire.” 


322 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ Assuredly,  sir.  My  daughter  would  in  any  case  have  had 
my  advice  to  seek  a conclusion  which  would  involve  no  strife. 
We  endeavor,  sir,  in  our  body,  to  hold  to  the  apostolic  rule 
that  one  Christian  brother  should  not  go  to  law  with  another  ; 
and  I,  for  my  part,  would  extend  this  rule  to  all  my  fellow- 
men,  apprehending  that  the  practice  of  our  courts  is  little 
consistent  with  the  simplicity  that  is  in  Christ.” 

“If  it  is  to  depend  on  my  will,”  saidEsther,  “there  is  nothing 
that  would  be  more  repugnant  to  me  than  any  struggle  on  such 
a subject.  But  can’t  the  lawyers  go  on  doing  what  they  will 
in  spite  of  me  ? It  seems  that  this  is  what  they  mean.” 

“ Not  exactly,”  said  Harold,  smiling.  “ Of  course  they 
live  by  such  struggles  as  you  dislike.  But  we  can  thwart 
them  by  determining  not  to  quarrel.  It  is  desirable  that  we 
should  consider  the  affair  together,  and  put  it  into  the  hands 
of  honorable  solicitors.  I assure  you  we  Transomes  will  not 
contend  for  what  is  not  our  own.” 

“And  this  is  what  I have  come  to  beg  of  you,”  said  Mrs. 
Transome.  “It  is  that  you  will  come  to  Transome  Court — 
and  let  us  take  full  time  to  arrange  matters.  Do  oblige  me  : 
you  shall  not  be  teased  more  than  you  like  by  an  old  woman  : 
you  shall  do  just  as  you  please,  and  become  acquainted  with 
your  future  home,  since  it  is  to  be  yours.  I can  tell  you  a 
world  of  things  that  you  will  want  to  know  ; and  the  business 
can  proceed  properly.” 

“ Do  consent,”  said  Harold,  with  winning  brevity. 

Esther  was  flushed  and  her  eyes  were  bright.  It  was  im- 
possible for  her  not  to  feel  that  the  proposal  was  a more 
tempting  step  toward  her  change  of  condition  than  she 
could  have  thought  of  beforehand.  She  had  forgotten  that 
she  was  in  any  trouble.  But  she  looked  toward  her  father, 
who  was  again  stroking  his  chin,  as  was  his  habit  when  he 
was  doubting  or  deliberating. 

“ I hope  you  do  not  disapprove  of  Miss  Lyon’s  granting  us 
this  favor  ? ” said  Harold  to  the  minister. 

“ I have  nothing  to  oppose  to  it,  sir,  if  my  daughter’s  own 
mind  is  clear  as  to  her  course.” 

“You  will  come — now — with  us,”  said  Mrs.  Transome, 
persuasively.  “ You  will  go  back  with  us  now  in  the  carriage.” 
Harold  was  highly  gratified  with  the  perfection  of  his 
mother’s  manner  on  this  occasion,  which  he  had  looked  for- 
ward to  as  difficult.  Since  he  had  come  home  again  he  had 
never  seen  her  so  much  at  her  ease,  or  with  so  much  benig- 
nancy  in  her  face.  The  secret  lay  in  the  charm  of  Esther’s 


THR  RADICAL. 


323 

sweet  young  deference,  a sort  of  charm  that  had  not  before 
entered  into  Mrs.  Transome’s  elderly  life.  Esther’s  pretty 
behavior,  it  must  be  confessed,  was  not  fed  entirely  from 
lofty  moral  sources  : over  and  above  her  really  generous  feel- 
ing,she  enjoyedMrs.  Transome’s  accent,  the  high-bred  quiet- 
ness of  her  speech,  the  delicate  odor  of  her  drapery.  She  had 
always  thought  that  life  must  be  particularly  easy  if  one  could 
pass  it  among  refined  people  ; and  so  it  seemed  at  this  mo- 
ment. She  wished,  unmixedly,  to  go  to  Transome  Court. 

“Since  my  father  has  no  objection,”  she  said,  “and  you  urge 
me  so  kindly.  But  I must  beg  for  time  to  pack  up  a few  clothes.” 
“ By  all  means,”  said  Mrs.  Transome.  “ We  are  not  at 
all  pressed.” 

When  Esther  had  left  the  room,  Harold  said,  “ Apart  from 
our  immediate  reason  for  coming,  Mr.  Lyon,  I could  have 
wished  to  see  you  about  these  unhappy  consequences  of  the 
election  contest.  But  you  will  understand  that  I have  been 
much  preoccupied  with  private  affairs.” 

“ You  have  well  said  that  the  consequences  are  unhappy, 
sir.  And  but  for  a reliance  on  something  more  than  human 
calculation,  I know  not  which  I should  most  bewail — the 
scandal  which  wrong-dealing  has  brought  on  right  principles 
or  the  snares  which  it  laid  for  the  feet  of  a young  man  who 
is  dear  to  me.  < One  soweth,  and  another  reapeth/  is  a 
verity  that  applies  to  evil  as  well  as  good.” 

“ You  are  referring  to  Felix  Holt.  I have  not  neglected 
steps  to  secure  the  best  legal  help  for  the  prisoners  : but  I 
am  given  to  understand  that  Holt  refuses  any  aid  from  me. 
I hope  he  will  not  go  rashly  to  work  in  speaking  in  his  own 
defence  without  any  legal  instruction.  It  is  an  opprobrium 
of  our  law  that  no  counsel  is  allowed  to  plead  for  the  prisoner 
in  cases  of  felony.  A ready  tongue  may  do  a man  as  much 
harm  as  good  in  a court  of  justice.  He  piques  himself  on 
making  a display,  and  displays  a little  too  much.” 

“ Sir,  you  know  him  not,”  said  the  little  minister,  in  his 
deeper  tone.  “ He  would  not  accept,  even  if  it  were  accord- 
ed, a defense  wherein  the  truth  was  screened  or  avoided, — 
not  from  a vainglorious  spirit  of  self-exhibition,  for  he  hatha 
singular  directness  and  simplicity  of  speech  ; but  from  an 
averseness  to  a profession  wherein  a man  may  without  shame 
seek  to  justify  the  wicked  for  reward,  and  take  away  the 
righteousness  of  the  righteous  from  him.” 

“ It’s  a pity  a fine  young  fellow  should  do  himself  harm 
by  fanatical  notions  of  that  sort.  * I could  at  least  have  pro- 


324 


FELIX  HOLT, 


cured  the  advantage  of  first-rate  consultation.  He  didn’t 
look  to  me  like  a dreamy  personage.” 

“ Nor  is  he  dreamy  ; rather,  his  excess  lies  in  being  too 
practical.” 

“ Well,  I hope  yoiuwill  not  encourage  him  in  such  irra- 
tionality ; the  question  is  not  one  of  misrepresentation,  but 
of  adjusting  fact,  so  as  to  raise  it  to  the  power  of  evidence. 
Don’t  you  see  that  ? ” 

“ I do,  I do.  But  I distrust  not  Felix  Holt’s  discernment 
in  regard  to  his  own  case.  He  builds  not  on  doubtful  things 
and  hath  no  illusory  hopes  ; on  the  contrary,  he  is  of  a too- 
scornful  incredulity  where  I would  fain  see  a more  childlike 
faith.  But  he  will  hold  no  belief  without  action  correspond- 
ing thereto  ; and  the  occasion  of  his  return  to  this,  his 
native  place,  at  a time  which  has  proved  fatal,  was  no  other 
than  his  resolve  to  hinder  the  sale  of  some  drugs,  which  had 
chiefly  supported  his  mother,  but  which  his  better  knowledge 
showed  him  to  be  pernicious  to  the  human  frame.  He  un- 
dertook to  support  her  by  his  own  labor  ; but,  sir,  I pray 
you  to  mark — and  old  as  I am,  I will  not  deny  that  this  young 
man  instructs  me  herein — I pray  you  to  mark  the  poisonous 
confusion  of  good  and  evil  which  is  the  wide-spreading  effect 
of  vicious  practices.  Through  the  use  of  undue  electioneer- 
ing means — concerning  which,  however,  I do  not  accuse  you 
farther  than  of  having  acted  the  part  of  him  who  washes  his 
hands  when  he  delivers  up  to  others  the  exercise  of  an  in- 
iquitous power — Felix  Holt  is,  I will  not  scruple  to  say,  the 
innocent  victim  of  a riot  ; and  that  deed  of  strict  honesty, 
whereby  he  took  on  himself  the  charge  of  his  aged  mother, 
seems  now  to  have  deprived  her  of  sufficient  bread,  and  is 
even  an  occasion  of  reproach  to  him  from  theweaker  brethren.” 
“ I shall  be  proud  to  supply  her  as  amply  as  you  think  de- 
sirable,” said  Harold,  not  enjoying  this  lecture. 

“ I will  pray  you  to  speak  of  this  question  with  my  daugh- 
ter, who,  it  appears,  may  herself  have  large  means  at  com- 
mand, and  would  desire  to  minister  to  Mrs.  Holt’s  needs 
with  all  friendship  and  delicacy.  For  the  present  I can  take 
care  that  she  lacks  nothing  essential.” 

As  Mr.  Lyon  was  speaking,  Esther  re-entered,  equipped 
for  her  drive.  She  laid  her  hand  on  her  father’s  arm  and  said, 
‘Tou  will  let  my  pupils  know  at  once,  will  you,  father?” 

“ Doubtless,  my  dear,”  said  the  old  man,  trembling  a little 
under  the  feeling  that  this  departure  of  Esther’s  was  a crisis. 
Nothing  again  would  be  as  it  had  been  in  their  mutual  life. 


THE  RADICAL.  325 

But  he  feared  that  he  was  being  mastered  by  a too  tender 
self-regard,  and  struggled  to  keep  himself  calm. 

Mrs.  Transome  and  Harold  had  both  risen. 

“ If  you  are  quite  ready,  Miss  Lyon,”  said  Harold,  divin- 
ing that  the  father  and  daughter  would  like  to  have  an  un- 
observed moment,  “ I will  take  my  mother  to  the  carriage 
and  come  back  for  you.” 

When  they  were  alone,  Esther  put  her  hands  on  her 
father’s  shoulders  and  kissed  him. 

“This  will  not  be  a grief  to  you,  I hope,  father?  You 
think  it  is  better  that  I should  go  ? ” 

“ Nay,  child,  I am  weak.  But  I would  fain  be  capable  of 
a joy  quite  apart  from  the  accidents  of  my  aged  earthly  ex- 
istence, which,  indeed,  is  a petty  and  almost  dried-up  foun- 
tain— whereas  to  the  receptive  soul  the  river  of  life  pauses 
not,  nor  is  diminished.” 

“ Perhaps  you  will  see  Felix  Holt  again  and  tell  him  all  ? ” 
“ Shall  I say  aught  to  him  for  you  ? ” 

“Oh,  no;  only  that  Job  Tudge  has  a little  flannel  shirt 
and  a box  of  lozenges,”  said  Esther,  smiling.  “ Ah,  I hear 
Mr.  Transome  coming  back.  I must  say  good-bye  to  Lyddy, 
else  she  will  cry  over  my  bard  heart.” 

In  spite  of  all  the  grave  thoughts  that  had  been,  Esther 
felt  it  a very  pleasant  as  well  as  new  experience  to  be  led  to 
the  carriage  by  Harold  Transome,  to  be  seated  on  soft 
cushions,  and  bowled  along,  looked  at  admiringly  and  def- 
erentially by  a person  opposite,  whom  it  was  agreeable  to 
look  at  in  return,  and  talked  to  with  suavity  and  liveliness. 
Toward  what  prospect  was  that  easy  carriage  really  leading 
her  ? She  could  not  be  always  asking  herself  Mentor-like 
questions.  Her  young,  bright  nature  was  rather  weary  of 
the  sadness  that  had  grown  heavier  in  these  last  weeks,  like 
a chill  white  mist  hopelessly  veiling  the  day.  Her  fortune 
was  beginning  to  appear  worthy  of  being  called  good  fortune. 
She  had  come  to  a new  stage  in  her  journey ; a new  day  had 
arisen  on  new  scenes,  and  her  young  untired  spirit  was  full 
of  curiosity. 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

No  man  believes  that  many-textured  knowledge  and  skill— as  a just  idea  of  the  solar 
system,  or  the  power  of  painting  flesh,  or  of  reading  written  harmonies — can  come  late 
and  of  a sudden  ; yet  many  will  not  stick  at  believing  that  happiness  can  come  at  any 
day  and  hour  solely  by  a new  disposition  of  events  ; though  there  is  naught  less  capa- 
ble of  a magical  production  than  a mortal’s  happiness,  which  is  mainly  a complex  of 
habitual  relations  and  dispositions  not  to  be  wrought  by  news  from  foreign  parts,  or  any 
whirling  of  fortune’s  wheel  for  one  on  whose  brow  Time  has  written  legibly. 

Some  days  after  Esther’s  arrival  at  Transome  Court,  Den- 


326 


FELIX  HOLT, 


ner,  coming  to  dress  Mrs.  Transome  before  dinner— a labor 
of  love  for  which  she  had  ample  leisure  now — found  her 
mistress  seated  with  more  than  ever  of  a marble  aspect  of 
self-absorbed  suffering,  which  to  the  waiting-woman’s  keen 
observation  had  been  gradually  intensifying  itself  during  the 
past  week.  She  had  tapped  at  the  door  without  having  been 
summoned,  and  she  had  ventured  to  enter  though  she  had 
heard  no  voice  saying,  “ Come  in.” 

Mrs.  Transome  had  on  a dark  warm  dressing-gown,  hang- 
ing in  thick  folds  about  her,  and  she  was  seated  before  a 
mirror  which  filled  a panel  from  the  floor  to  the  ceiling. 
The  room  was  bright  with  the  light  of  the  fire  and  of  wax 
candles.  For  some  reason,  contrary  to  her  usual  practice, 
Mrs.  Transome  had  herself  unfastened  her  abundant  gray 
hair,  which  rolled  backward  in  a pale  sunless  stream  over 
her  dark  dress.  She  was  seated  before  the  mirror  appa- 
rently looking  at  herself,  her  brow  knit  in  one  deep  furrow, 
and  her  jewelled  hands  laid  one  above  the  other  on  her  knee. 
Probably  she  had  ceased  to  see  the  reflection  in  the  mirror, 
for  her  eyes  had  the  fixed  wide-open  look  that  belongs  not  to 
examination, but  to  reverie.  Motionless  in  that  way,  her  clear- 
cut  features  keeping  distinct  record  of  past  beauty, she  looked 
like  an  image  faded,  dried,  and  bleached  by  uncounted  suns, 
rather  than  a breathing  woman  who  had  numbered  the  years 
as  they  passed,  and  had  a consciousness  within  her  which 
was  the  slow  deposit  of  those  ceaseless  rolling  years. 

Denner,  with  all  her  ingrained  and  systematic  reserve, 
could  not  help  showing  signs  that  she  was  startled,  when, 
peering  from  between  her  half-closed  eyelids,  she  saw  the 
motionless  image  in  the  mirror  opposite  to  her  as  she  entered. 
Her  gentle  opening  of  the  door  had  not  roused  her  mistress, 
to  whom  the  sensations  produced  by  Dennef’s  presence 
were  as  little  disturbing  as  those  of  a favorite  cat.  But  the 
slight  cry,  and  the  start  reflected  in  the  glass,  were  unusual 
enough  to  break  the  reverie,  Mrs.  Transome  moved,  leaned 
back  in  her  chair,  and  said — 

“ So  you’re  come  at  last,  Denner  ? ” 

“ Yes,  madam  ; it  is  not  late.  I’m  sorry  you  should  have 
undone  your  hair  yourself.” 

“ I undid  it  to  see  what  an  old  hag  I am.  These  fine 
clothes  you  put  on  me,  Denner,  are  only  a smart  shroud.” 

“ Pray  don’t  talk  so,  madam.  If  there’s  anybody  doesn’t 
think  it  pleasant  to  look  at  you,  so  much  the  worse  for  them. 
For  my  part,  I’ve  seen  no  young  ones  fit  to  hold  up  your 


THE  RADICAL. 


327 


train.  Look  at  your  likeness  down  below  ; and  though  you're 
older  now,  what  signifies  ? I wouldn’t  be  Letty  in  the  scul- 
lery because  she’s  got  red  cheeks.  She  mayn’t  know  she’s 
a poor  creature,  but  I know  it,  and  that’s  enough  for  me ; I 
know  what  sort  of  a dowdy  draggletail  she’ll  be  in  ten  years' 
time.  I would  change  with  nobody,  madam.  And  if  trou- 
bles were  put  up  to  market,  I’d  sooner  buy  old  than  new. 
It’s  something  to  have  seen  the  worst.” 

“ A woman  never  has  seen  the  worst  till  she  is  old,  Den- 
ner,”  said  Mrs.  Transome,  bitterly. 

The  keen  little . waiting-woman  was  not  clear  as  to  the 
cause  of  her  mistress’s  added  bitterness  ; but  she  rarely 
brought  herself  to  ask  questions,  when  Mrs.  Transome  did 
not  authorize  them  by  beginning  to  give  her  information. 
Banks  the  bailiff  and  the  head-servant  had  nodded  and 
winked  a good  deal  over  the  certainty  that  Mr.  Harold  was 
“ none  so  fond  ” of  Jermyn,  but  this  was  a subject  on  which 
Mrs.  Transome  had  never  made  up  her  mind  to  speak,  and 
Denner  knew  nothing  definite.  Again,  she  felt  quite  sure 
that  there  was  some  important  secret  connected  with  Esther’s 
presence  in  the  house  ; she  suspected  that  the  close  Domi- 
nic knew  the  secret,  and  was  more  trusted  than  she  was,  in 
spite  of  her  forty  years’  service  ; but  any  resentment  on  this 
ground  would  have  been  an  entertained  reproach  against 
her  mistress,  inconsistent  with  Denner’s  creed  and  charac- 
ter. She  inclined  to  the  belief  that  Esther  was  the  immedi- 
ate cause  of  the  new  discontent. 

“ If  there’s  anything  worse  coming  to  you,  I should  like  to 
know  what  it  is,  madam,”  she  said,  after  a moment’s  silence, 
speaking  always  in  the  same  low  quick  way,  and  keeping  up 
her  quiet  labors.  “When  I awake  at  cock-crow, I’d  sooner  have 
one  real  grief  on  my  mind  than  twenty  false.  It’s  better  to 
know  one’s  robbed  than  to  think  one’s  going  to  be  murdered.” 
“ I believe  you  are  the  creature  in  the  world  that  loves  me 
best,  Denner  ; yet  you  will  never  understand  what  I suffer. 
It’s  of  no  use  telling  you.  There’s  no  folly  in  you,  and  no 
heartache.  You  are  made  of  iron.  You  have  never  had 
any  trouble.” 

“ I’ve  had  some  of  your  trouble,  madam.” 

“Yes,  you  good  thing.  But  as  a sick-nurse,  that  never 
caught  the  fever.  You  never  even  had  a child.” 

“I  can  feel  for  things  I never  went  through.  I used  to  be 
sorry  for  the  poor  French  Queen  when  I was  young  ; I’d  have 
lain  cold  for  her  to  lie  warm.  I know  people  have  feelings 


328  FELIX  HOLT, 

according  to  their  birth  and  station.  And  you  always  took 
things  to  heart,  madam,  beyond  anybody  else.  But  I hope 
there’s  nothing  new,  to  make  you  talk  of  the  worst.” 

“ Yes,  Denner,  there  is — there  is,”  said  Mrs.  Transome. 
speaking  in  a low  tone  of  misery,  while  she  bent  for  he! 
head-dress  to  be  pinned  on. 

“ Is  it  this  young  lady  ? ” 

“ Why,  what  do  you  think  about  her,  Denner  ? ” said  Mrs. 
Transome,  in  a tone  of  more  spirit,  rather  curious  to  hear 
what  the  old  woman  would  say. 

“ I don’t  deny  she’s  graceful,  and  she  has  a pretty  smile 
and  very  good  manners:  it’s  quite  unaccountable  by  what 
Banks  says  about  her  father.  I know  nothing  of  those  Treby 
townsfolk  myself,  but  for  my  part  I’m  puzzled.  I’m  fond 
of  Mr.  Harold.  I always  shall  be,  madam.  I was  at 
his  bringing  into  the  world,  and  nothing  but  his  doing 
wrong  by  you  would  turn  me  against  him.  But  the  servants 
all  say  he’s  in  love  with  Miss  Lyon.” 

“ I wish  it  were  true,  Denner,”  said  Mrs.  Transome,  ener- 
getically. “ I wish  he  were  in  love  with  her,  so  that  she 
could  master  him,  and  make  him  do  what  she  pleased.” 

“ Then  it  is  not  true — what  they  say  ? ” 

“ Not  true  that  she  will  ever  master  him.  No  woman 
ever  will.  He  will  make  her  fond  of  him,  and  afraid  of  him. 
That’s  one  of  the  things  you  have  never  gone  through,  Den- 
ner. A woman’s  love  is  always  freezing  into  fear.  She 
wants  everything,  she  is  secure  of  nothing.  This  girl  has  a 
fine  spirit — plenty  of  fire  and  pride  and  wit.  Men  like  such 
captives,  as  they  like  horses  that  champ  the  bit  and  paw  the 
ground:  they  feel  more  triumph  in  their  mastery.  What  is  the 
use  of  a woman’s  will? — if  she  tries,  she  doesn’t  get  it,  and  she 
ceases  to  be  loved.  God  was  cruel  when  He  made  women.” 
Denner  was  used  to  such  outbursts  as  this.  Her  mistress’s 
rhetoric  and  temper  belonged  to  her  superior  rank,  her 
grand  person,  and  her  piercing  black  eyes.  Mrs.  Transome 
had  a sense  of  impiety  in  her  words  which  made  them  all 
the  more  tempting  to  her  impotent  anger.  The  waiting- 
woman  had  none  of  that  awe  which  could  be  turned  into 
defiance:  the  Sacred  Grove  was  a common  thicket  to  her. 

“ It  mayn’t  be  good  luck  to  be  a woman,”  she  said. 
“ But  one  begins  with  it  from  a baby:  one  gets  used  to  it. 
And  ’I  shouldn’t  like  to  be  a man — to  cough  so  loud,  and 
stand  straddling  about  on  a wet  day,  and  be  so  wasteful  with 
meat  and  drink.  They’re  a coarse  lot,  I think.  Then  I 


THE  RADICAL.  329 

needn’t  make  a trouble  of  this  young  lady,  madam,”  she 
added,  after  a moment’s  pause. 

“ No,  Denner,  I like  her.  If  that  were  all — I should  like 
Harold  to  marry  her.  It  would  be  the  best  thing.  If  the 
truth  were  known — and  it  will  be  known  soon — the  estate  is 
hers  by  law — such  law  as  it  is.  It’s  a strange  story:  she’s  a 
Bycliffe  really.” 

Denner  did  not  look  amazed,  but  went  on  fastening  her 
mistress’s  dress,  as  she  said — 

“ Well,  madam,  I was  sure  there  was  something  wonderful 
at  the  bottom  of  it.  And  turning  the  old  lawsuits  and 
everything  else  over  in  my  mind,  I thought  the  law  might 
have  something  to  do  with  it.  Then  she  is  a born  lady  ? ” 
“ Yes  ; she  has  good  blood  in  her  veins.” 

“ We  talked  that  over  in  the  housekeeper’s  room — what  a 
hand  and  an  instep  she  has,  and  how  her  head  is  set  on  her 
shoulders — almost  like  your  own,  madam.  But  her  lightish 
complexion  spoils  her,  to  my  thinking.  And  Dominic 
said  Mr.  Harold  never  admired  that  sort  of  woman  before. 
There’s  nothing  that  smooth  fellow  couldn’t  tell  you  if  he 
would:  he  knows  the  answer  to  riddles  before  they’re  made. 
However,  he  knows  how  to  hold  his  tongue;  I’ll  say  that  for 
him.  And  so  do  I,  madam.” 

“ Yes,  yes;  you  will  not  talk  of  it  till  other  people  are 
talking  of  it.” 

“ And  so,  if  Mr.  Harold  married  her,  it  would  save  all 
fuss  and  mischief  ? ” 

“Yes — about  the  estate.” 

“ And  he  seems  inclined  ; and  she’ll  not  refuse  him,  I’ll 
answer  for  it.  And  you  like  her,  madam.  There’s  every- 
thing to  set  your  mind  at  rest.” 

Denner  was  putting  the  finishing-touch  to  Mrs.  Tran- 
some’s  dress  by  throwing  an  Indian  scarf  over  her  shoulders, 
and  so  completing  the  contrast  between  the  majestic  lady 
in  costume  and  the  dishevelled  Hecuba-like  woman  whom 
she  had  found  half  an  hour  before. 

“ I am  not  at  rest  ! ” Mrs.  Transome  said,  with  slow  dis- 
tinctness, moving  from  the  mirror  to  the  window,  where  the 
blind  was  not  drawn  down,  and  she  could  see  the  chill  white 
landscape  and  the  far-off  unheeding  stars. 

Denner,  more  distressed  by  her  mistress’s  suffering  than 
she  could  have  been  by  anything  else,  took  up  with  the  in- 
stinct of  affection  a gold  vinaigrette  which  Mrs.  Transome 
oft^n  liked  to  carry  with  her,  and  going  up  to  her  put  it  into 


330 


FELIX  HOLT, 


her  hand  gently.  Mrs.  Transome  grasped  the  little  woman’s 
hand  hard,  and  held  it  so. 

“ Denner,”  she  said,  in  a low  tone,  “ if  I could  choose  at 
this  moment,  I would  choose  that  Harold  should  never  have 
been  born.” 

“ Nay,  my  dear,”  (Denner  had  only,  once  before  in  her 
life  said  “ my  dear  ” to  her  mistress),  “ it  was  a happiness  to 
you  then.” 

“ I don’t  believe  I felt  the  happiness  then  as  I feel  the 
misery  now.  It  is  foolish  to  say  people  can’t  feel  much 
when  they  are  getting  old.  Not  pleasure,  perhaps — little 
comes.  But  they  can  feel  they  are  forsaken — why,  every 
fibre  in  me  seems  to  be  a memory  that  makes  a pang.  They 
can  feel  that  all  the  love  in  their  lives  is  turned  to  hatred 
or  contempt.” 

“ Not  mine,  madam,  not  mine.  Let  what  would  be  I should 
want  to  live  for  your  sake,  for  fear  you  should  have  nobody 
to  do  for  you  as  I would.” 

“ Ah,  then  you  are  a happy  woman,  Denner  ; you  have 
loved  somebody  for  forty  years  who  is  old  and  weak  now, 
and  cank  do  without  you.” 

The  sound  of  the  dinner-gong  resounded  below,  and 
Mrs.  Transome  let  the  faithful  hand  fall  again. 

CHAPTER  XL. 

“ She’s  beautiful  ; and  therefore  to  be  wooed  : 

She  is  a woman  ; therefore  to  be  won.” 

— Henry  VI. 

If  Denner  had  had  a suspicion  that  Esther’s  presence  at 
Transome  Court  was  not  agreeable  to  her  mistress,  it  was 
impossible  to  entertain  such  a suspicion  with  regard  to  the 
other  members  of  the  family.  Between  her  and  little  Harry 
there  was  an  extraordinary  fascination.  This  creature, 
with  the  soft,  broad,  brown  cheeks,  low  forehead,  great 
black  eyes,  tiny,  well-defined  nose,  fierce,  biting  tricks 
toward  every  person  and  thing  he  disliked,  and  insistence 
on  entirely  occupying  those  he  liked,  was  a human  speci- 
men such  as  Esther  had  never  seen  before,  and  she  seemed 
to  be  equally  original  in  Harry’s  experience.  At  first  sight 
her  light  complexion  and  her  blue  gown,  probably  also  her 
sunny  smile  and  her  hands  stretched  out  toward  him, 
seemed  to  make  a show  for  him  as  of  a new  sort  of  bird  : he 
threw  himself  backward  against  his  “ Gappa,”  as  he  called 
old  Mr.  Transome,  and  stared  at  this  new  comer  with  the 
gravity  of  a wild  animal,  But  she  had  no  sooner  sat  down 


THE  RADICAL. 


33 1 


on  the  sofa  in  the  library  than  he  climbed  up  to  her,  and 
began  to  treat  her  as  a$  attractive  object  in  natural  history, 
snatched  up  her  curls  with  his  brown  fist,  and,  discovering 
that  there  was  a little  ear  under  them,  pinched  it  and  blew 
into  it,  pulled  at  her  coronet  of  plaits,  and  seemed  to  dis- 
cover with  satisfaction  that  it  did  not  grow  at  the  summit 
of  her  head,  but  could  be  dragged  down  and  altogether 
undone.  Then  finding  that  she  laughed,  tossed  him  back, 
kissed,  and  pretended  to  bite  him — in  fact,  was  an  animal 
that  understood  fun — he  rushed  off  and  made  Dominic 
bring  a small  menagerie  of  white  mice,  squirrels,  and  birds, 
with  Moro,  the  black  spaniel,  to  make  her  acquaintance. 
Whomsoever  Harry  liked,  it  followed  that  Mr.  Transome 
must  like  : “ Gappa,”  along  with  Nimrod  the  retriever,  was 
part  of  the  menagerie,  and  perhaps  endured  more  than  all 
the  other  live  creatures  in  the  way  of  being  tumbled  about. 
Seeing  that  Esther  bore  having  her  hair  pulled  down  quite 
merrily,  and  that  she  was  willing  to  be  harnessed  and  beaten, 
the  old  man  began  to  confide  to  her,  in  his  feeble,  smiling, 
and  rather  jerking  fashion,  Harry’s  remarkable  feats  : how 
he  had  one  day,  when  Gappy  was  asleep,  unpinned  a whole 
drawerful  of  beetles,  to  see  if  they  would  fly  away  ; then, 
disgusted  with  their  stupidity,  was  about  to  throw  them  all 
on  the  ground  and  stamp  on  them,  when  Dominic  came  in 
and  rescued  these  valuable  specimens  ; also,  how  he  had 
subtly  watched  Mrs.  Transome  at  the  cabinet  where  she 
kept  her  medicines,  and,  when  she  had  left  it  for  a little 
while  without  locking  it,  had  gone  to  the  drawers  and  scat- 
tered half  the  contents  on  the  floor.  But  what  old  Mr. 
Transome  thought  the  most  wonderful  proof  of  an  almost 
preternatural  clevernessVas,  that  Harry  would  hardly  ever 
talk,  but  preferred  making  inarticulate  noises,  or  combining 
syllables  after  a method  of  his  own. 

“ He  can  talk  well  enough  if  he  likes, ” said  Gappa,  evi- 
dently thinking  that  Harry,  like  the  monkeys,  had  deep 
reasons  for  his  reticence. 

“ You  mind  him,”  he  added,  nodding  at  Esther,  and  shak- 
ing with  low-toned  laughter.  “ You’ll  hear  : he  knows  the 
right  names  of  things  well  enough,  but  he  likes  to  make  his 
own.  He’ll  give  you  one  all  to  yourself  before  long.” 

And  when  Harry  seemed  to  have  made  up  his  mind  dis- 
tinctly that  Esther’s  name  was  “ Boo,”  Mr.  Transome  nod- 
ded at  her  with  triumphant  satisfaction,  and  then  told  her 
in  a low  whisper,  looking  round  cautiously  beforehand,  that 


332  FELIX  HOLT, 

Harry  would  never  call  Mrs.  Transome  “ Gamma,”  but 
always  “ Bite.”  * 

“ It’s  wonderful  ! *’  said  he,  laughing  slyly. 

The  old  man  seemed  so  happy  now  in  the  new  world 
created  for  him  by  Dominic  and  Harry,  that  he  would  per- 
haps have  made  a holocaust  of  his  flies  and  beetles  if  it  had 
been  necessary  in  order  to  keep  this  living,  lively  kindness 
about  him.  He  no  longer  confined  himself  to  the  library, 
but  shuffled  along  from  room  to  room,  staying  and  looking 
on  at  what  was  going  forward  whenever  he  did  not  find  Mrs. 
Transome  alone. 

To  Esther  the  sight  of  this  feeble-minded,  timid,  paraly- 
tic man,  who  had  long  abdicated  all  mastery  over  the  things 
that  were  his,  was  something  piteous.  Certainly  this  had 
never  been  part  of  the  furniture  she  had  imagined  for  the 
delightful  aristocratic  dwelling  in  her  Utopia;  and  the  sad 
irony  of  such  a lot  impressed  her  the  more  because  in  her 
father  she  was  accustomed  to  age  accompanied  with  mental 
acumen  and  activity.  Her  thoughts  went  back  in  conjec- 
ture over  the  past  life  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Transome,  a couple 
so  strangely  different  from  each  other.  She  found  it  impos- 
sible to  arrange  their  existence  in  the  seclusion  of  this  fine 
park  and  in  this  lofty  large-roomed  house, -where  it  seemed 
quite  ridiculous  to  be  anything  so  small  as  a human  being, 
without  finding  it  rather  dull.  Mr.  Transome  had  always 

had  his  beetles,  but  Mrs.  Transome ? it  was  not  easy  to 

conceive  that  the  husband  and  wife  had  ever  been  very  fond 
of  each  other. 

Esther  felt  at  her  ease  with  Mrs.  Transome  : she  was 
gratified  by  the  consciousness — for  on  this  point  Esther  was 
very  quick — that  Mrs.  Transome  admired  her,  and  looked 
at  her  with  satisfied  eyes.  But  when  they  were  together  in 
the  early  days  of  her  stay,  the  conversation  turned  chiefly 
on  what  happened  in  Mrs.  Transoflie’s  youth — what  she 
wore  when  she  was  presented  at  Court — who  were  the  most 
distinguished  and  beautiful  women  at  that  time — the  terri- 
ble excitement  of  the  French  Revolution — the  emigrants  she 
had  known,  and  the  history  of  various  titled  members  of  the 
Lingon  family.  And  Esther,  from  native  delicacy,  did  not 
lead  to  more  recent  topics  of  a personal  kind.  She  was 
copiously  instructed  that  the  Lingon  family  was  better  than 
that  even  of  the  elder  Transomes,  and  was  privileged  with 
an  explanation  of  the  various  quarterings,  which  proved  that 
the  Lingon  blood  had  been  continually  enriched.  Poor 


THE  RADICAL. 


333 


Mrs.  Transome,  with  her  secret  bitterness  and  dread,  still 
found  a flavor  in  this  sort  of  pride  ; none  the  less  because 
certain  deeds  of  her  own  life  had  been  in  fatal  inconsistency 
with  it.  Besides,  genealogies  entered  into  her  stock  of 
ideas,  and  her  talk  on  such  subjects  was  as  necessary  as  the 
notes  of  the  linnet  or  the  blackbird.  She  had  no  ultimate 
analysis  of  things  that  went  beyond  blood  and  family — the 
Herons  of  Fenshore  or  the  Badgers  of  Hillbury.  She  had 
never  seen  behind  the  canvas  with  which  her  life  was  hung. 
In  the  dim  background  there  was  the  burning  mount  and 
the  tables  of  the  law  ; in  the  foreground  there  was  Lady 
Debarry  privately  gossipping  about  her,  and  Lady  Wyvern 
finally  deciding  not  to  send  her  invitations  to  dinner.  Un- 
like that  Semiramis  who  made  laws  to  suit  her  practical 
license,  she  lived,  poor  soul,  in  the  midst  of  desecrated  sanc- 
tities, and  of  honors  that  looked  tarnished  in  the  light  of 
monotonous  and  weary  suns.  Glimpses  of  the  Lingon 
heraldry  in  their  freshness  were  interesting  to  Esther  ; but 
it  occurred  to  her  that  when  she  had  known  about  them  a 
good  while  they  would  cease  to  be  succulent  themes  of  con- 
verse or  meditation,  and  Mrs.  Transome,  having  known 
them  all  along,  might  have  felt  a vacuum  in  spite  of  them. 

Nevertheless  it  was  entertaining  at  present  to  be  seated 
on  soft  cushions  with  her  netting  before  her,  while  Mrs. 
Transome  went  on  with  her  embroidery,  and  told  in  that 
easy  phrase,  and  with  that  refined  high-bred  tone  and  ac- 
cent which  she  possessed  in  perfection,  family  stories  that 
to  Esther  were  like  so  many  novelettes  ; what  diamonds 
were  in  the  Earl’s  family,  own  cousins  to  Mrs.  Transome  ; 
how  poor  Lady  Sara’s  husband  went  off  into  jealous  mad- 
ness only  a month  after  their  marriage,  and  dragged  that 
sweet  blue-eyed  thing  by  the  hair  ; and  how  the  brilliant 
Fanny,  having  married  a country  parson,  became  so  nig- 
gardly that  she  had  gone  about  almost  begging  for  fresh 
eggs  from  the  farmers’  wives,  though  she  had  done  very  well 
with  her  six  sons, as  there  was  a bishop  and  no  end  of  interest 
in  the  family,  and  two  of  them  got  appointments  in  India. 

At  present  Mrs.  Transome  did  not  touch  at  all  on  her  own 
time  of  privation,  or  her  troubles  with  her  eldest  son,  or  on 
anything  that  lay  very  close  to  her  heart.  She  conversed 
with  Esther,  and  acted  the  part  of  hostess,  as  she  performed 
her  toilet  and  went  on  with  her  embroidery  : these  things 
were  to  be  done  whether  one  were  happy  or  miserable. 
Even  the  patriarch  Job,  if  he  had  been  a gentleman  of  the 


334  FELIX  HOL?, 

modern  West,  would  have  avoided  picturesque  disorder  and 
poetical  laments  ; and  the  friends  who  called  on  him,  though 
not  less  disposed  than  Bildad  the  Shuhite  to  hint  that  their 
unfortunate  friend  was  in  the  wrong,  would  have  sat  on 
chairs  and  held  their  hats  in  their  hands.  The  harder 
problems  of  our  life  have  changed  less  than  our  manners  ; 
we  wrestle  with  the  old  sorrows,  but  more  decorously. 
Esther’s  inexperience  prevented  her  from  divining  much 
about  this  fine  gray-haired  woman,  whom  she  could  not  help 
perceiving  to  stand  apart  from  the  family  group,  as  if  there 
were  some  cause  of  isolation  for  her  both  within  and  with- 
out. To  her  young  heart  there  was  a peculiar  interest  in 
Mrs.  Transome.  An  elderly  woman,  whose  beauty,  position, 
and  graceful  kindness  toward  herself,  made  deference  to  her 
spontaneous,  was  a new  figure  in  Esther’s  experience.  Her 
quick  light  movement  was  always  ready  to  anticipate  what 
Mrs.  Transome  wanted  ; her  bright  apprehension  and  silvery 
speech  were  always  ready  to  cap  Mrs.  Transome’s  narratives 
or  instructions  even  about  doses  and  liniments,  with  some 
lively  commentary.  She  must  have  behaved  charmingly  ; 
for  one  day  when  she  had  tripped  across  the  room  to  put 
the  screen  just  in  the  right  place, Mrs.  Transome  said,  taking 
her  hand,  “My  dear,  you  make  me  wish  I had  a daughter!” 

That  was  pleasant  ; and  so  it  was  to  be  decked  by  Mrs. 
Transome’s  own  hands  in  a set  of  turquoise  ornaments,  which 
became  her  wonderfully,  worn  with  a white  Cashmere  dress, 
which  was  also  insisted  on.  Esther  never  reflected  that  there 
was  a double  intention  in  these  pretty  ways  toward  her  ; with 
young  generosity,  she  was  rather  preoccupied  by  the  desire 
to  prove  that  she  herself  entertained  no  low  triumph  in  the 
fact  that  she  had  rights  prejudicial  to  this  family  whose  life 
she  was  learning.  And  besides,  through  all  Mrs.  Transome’s 
perfect  manners,  there  pierced  some  undefinable  indications 
of  a hidden  anxiety  much  deeper  than  anything  she  could 
feel  about  this  affair  of  the  estate — to  which  she  often  al- 
luded slightly  as  a reason  for  informing  Esther  of  something. 
It  was  impossible  to  mistake  her  for  a happy  woman  ; and 
young  speculation  is  always  stirred  by  discontent  for  which 
there  is  no  obvious  cause.  When  we  are  older,  we  take  the 
uneasy  eyes  and  the  bitter  lips  more  as  a matter  of  course. 

But  Harold  Transome  was  more  communicative  about  re- 
cent years  than  his  mother  was.  He  thought  it  well  that 
Esther  should  know  how  the  fortune  of  his  family  had  been 
drained  by  law  expenses,  owing  to  suits  mistakenly  urged  by 


THE  RADICAL. 


33S 


her  family  ; he  spoke  of  his  mother’s  lonely  life  and  pinched 
circumstances,  of  her  lack  of  comfort  in  her  elder  son,  and 
of  the  habit  she  had  consequently  acquired  of  looking  at  the 
gloomy  side  of  things.  He  hinted  that  she  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  dictate,  and  that,  as  he  had  left  her  when  he  was  a 
boy,  she  had  perhaps  indulged  the  dream  that  he  would  come 
back  a boy.  She  was  still  sore  on  the  point  of  his  politics. 
These  things  could  not  be  helped,  but  so  far  as  he  could, 
he  wished  to  make  the  rest  of  her  life  as  cheerful  as  possi- 
ble. 

Esther  listened  eagerly,  and  took  these  things  to  heart. 
The  claim  to  an  inheritance,  the  sudden  discovery  of  a right 
to  a fortune  held  by  others,  was  acquiring  a very  distinct  and 
unexpected  meaning  for  her.  Every  day  she  was  getting 
more  'clearly  into  her  imagination  what  it  would  be  to  aban- 
don her  own  past,  and  what  she  would  enter  into  in  exchange 
for  it ; what  it  would  be  to  disturb  a long  possession,  and 
how  difficult  it  was  to  fix  a point  at  which  the  disturbance 
might  begin,  so  us  to  be  contemplated  without  pain. 

Harold  Transome’s  thoughts  turned  on 'the  same  subject, 
but  accompanied  by  a different  state  of  feeling  and  with  more 
definite  resolutions.  He  saw  a mode  of  reconciling  all  diffi- 
culties,which  looked  pleasanter  to  him  the  longer  he  looked  at 
Esther.  When  she  had  been  hardly  a week  in  the  house,  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  marry  her  ; and  it  had  never  en- 
tered into  that  mind  that  the  decision  did  not  rest  entirely  with 
his  inclination.  It  was  not  that  he  thought  slightly  of  Esther’s 
demands  ; he  saw  that  she  would  require  considerable  at- 
tractions to  please  her,  and  that  there  were  difficulties  to  be 
overcome.  She  was  clearly  a girl  who  must  be  wooed  ; but 
Harold  did  not  despair  of  presenting  the  requisite  attrac- 
tions, and  the  difficulties  gave  more  interest  to  the  wooing 
than  he  could  have  believed.  When  he  had  said  that  he 
would  not  marry  an  Englishwoman,  he  had  always  made  a 
mental  reservation  in  favor  of  peculiar  circumstances  ; and 
now  the  peculiar  circumstances  were  come.  To  be  deeply  in 
love  was  a catastrophe  not  likely  to  happen  to  him  ; but  he 
was  readily  amorous.  No  woman  could  make  him  miserable, 
but  he  was  sensitive  to  the  presence  of  women,  and  was  kind 
to  them  ; not  with  grimaces,  like  a man  of  mere  gallantry, 
but  beamingly,,  easily,  like  a man  of  genuine  good-nature. 
And  each  day  he  was  near  Esther,  the  solution  of  all  diffi- 
culties by  marriage  became  a more  pleasing  prospect;  though 
he  had  to  confess  to  himself  that  the  difficulties  did  not 


3 36 


FELIX  HOLT, 


diminish  on  a nearer  view,  in  spite  of  the  flattering  sense 
that  she  brightened  at  his  approach. 

Harold  was  not  one  to  fail  in  a purpose  for  want  of 
assiduity.  After  an  hour  or  two  devoted  to  business  in  the 
morning,  he  went  to  look  for  Esther,  and  if  he  did  not  find 
her  at  play  with  Harry  and  old  Mr.  Transome,  or  chatting 
with  his  mother,  he  went  into  the  drawing-room,  where  she 
was  usually  either  seated  with  a book  on  her  knee  and 
“ making  a bed  for  her  cheek  ” with  one  little  hand,  while  she 
looked  out  of  the  window,  or  else  standing  in  front  of  one  of 
the  full-length  family  portraits  with  an  air  of  rumination 
Esther  found  it  impossible  to  read  in  these  days;  her  life 
was  a book  which  she  seemed  herself  to  be  constructing — 
trying  to  make  character  clear  before  her,  and  looking  into 
the  ways  of  destiny. 

The  active  Harold  had  almost  always  something  definite 
to  propose  by  way  of  filling  the  time  ; if  it  were  fine,  she 
must  walk  out  with  him  and  see  the  grounds  ; and  when  the 
snow  melted  and  it  was  no  longer  slippery,  she  must  get  on 
horseback  and  learn  to  ride.  If  they  staid  indoors,  she  must 
learn  to  play  at  billiards,  or  she  must  go  over  the  house  and 
see  the  pictures  he  had  had  hung  anew,  or  the  costumes  he 
had  brought  from  the  East,  or  come  into  his  study  and  look 
at  the  map  of  the  estate,  and  hear  what — if  it  had  remained 
in  his  family — he  had  intended  to  do  in  every  corner  of  it  in 
order  to  make  the  most  of  its  capabilities. 

About  a. certain  time  in  the  morning  Esther  had  learned 
to  expect  him.  Let  every  wooer  make  himself  strongly 
expected  ; he  may  succeed  by  dint  of  being  absent,  but 
hardly  in  the  first  instance.  One  morning  Harold  found  her 
in  the  drawing-room,  leaning  against  a console-table,  and 
looking  at  the  full-length  portrait  of  a certain  Lady  Betty 
Transome,  who  had  lived  a century  and  a half  before,  and 
had  the  usual  charm  of  ladies  in  Sir  Peter  Lely’s  style. 

“ Don’t  move,  pray,”  he  said  on  entering  ; “ you  look  as  if 
you  were  standing  for  your  own  portrait.” 

“I  take  that  as  an  insinuation,”  said  Esther,  laughing,  and 
moving  toward  her  seat  on  an  ottoman  near  the  fire,  “for  I 
notice  almost  all  the  portraits  are  in  a conscious,  affected 
attitude.  That  fair  Lady  Betty  looks  as  if  she  had  been 
drilled  into  that  posture,  and  had  not  will  enough  of  her  own 
ever  to  move  again  unless  she  had  a little  push  given  to 
her.” 

“ She  brightens  up  that  panel  well  with  her  long  satin  skirt,” 


The  radical.  337 

said  Harold,  as  he  followed  Esther,  “ but  alive  I dare  say 
she  would  have  been  less  cheerful  company.” 

“ One  would  certainly  think  that  she  had  just  been  un- 
packed from  silver  paper.  Ah,  how  chivalrous  you  are  ! ” 
said  Esther,  as  Harold,  kneeling  on  one  knee,  held  her  silken 
netting-stirrup  for  her  to  put  her  foot  through.  She  had 
often  fancied  pleasant  scenes  in  which  such  homage  was 
rendered  to  her,  and  the  homage  was  not  disagreeable  now 
it  was  really  come  ; but,  strangely  enough,  a little  darting 
sensation  at  that  moment  was  accompanied  by  the  vivid 
remembrance  of  some  one  who  had  never  paid  the  least  atten- 
tion to  her  foot.  There  had  been  a slight  blush,  such  as 
often  came  and  went  rapidly,  and  she  was  silent  a moment. 
Harold  naturally  believed  that  it  was  he  himself  who  was 
filling  the  field  of  vision.  He  would  have  liked  to  place 
himself  on  the  ottoman  near  Esther,  and  behave  very  much 
more  like  a lover  ; but  he  took  a chair  opposite  to  her  at  a 
circumspect  distance.  He  dared  not  do  otherwise.  Along 
with  Esther’s  playful  charm  she  conveyed  an  impression  of 
personal  pride  and  high  spirit  which  warned  Harold’s  acute- 
ness that  in  the  delicacy  of  their  present  position  he  might 
easily  make  a false  move  and  offend  her.  A woman  was 
likely  to  be  credulous  about  adoration,  and  to  find  no  diffi- 
culty in  referring  it  to  her  intrinsic  attractions  ; but  Esther 
was  too  dangerously  quick  and  critical  not  to  discern  the 
least  awkwardness  that  looked  like  offering  her  marriage  as 
a convenient  compromise  for  himself.  Beforehand,  he 
might  have  said  that  such  characteristics  as  hers  were  not 
loveable  in  a woman  ; but,  as  it  was,  he  found  that  the  hope 
of  pleasing  her  had  a piquancy  quite  new  to  him. 

“I  wonder,”  said  Esther,  breaking  the  silence  in  her  usual 
light  silvery  tones — “ I wonder  whether  the  women  who 
looked  in  that  way  ever  felt  any  troubles.  I see  there  are 
two  old  ones  up-stairs  in  the  billiard-room  who  have  only 
got”  fat  ; the  expression  of  their  faces  is  just  of  the  same 
sort.” 

“ A woman  ought  never  to  have  any  trouble.  There 
should  always  be  a man  to  guard  her  from  it.  (Harold 
Transome  was  masculine  and  fallible;  he  had  incautiously 
sat  down  this  morning  to  pay  his  addresses  by  talk  about 
nothing  in  particular  ; and,  clever  experienced  man  as  he 
was,  he  fell  into  nonsense.) 

“ But  suppose  the  man  himself  got  into  trouble — you 
would  wish  her  to  mind  about  that.  Or  suppose,”  added 


33§ 


FELIX  HOLT, 


Esther,  suddenly  looking  up  merrily  at  Harold,  “ the  man 
himself  was  troublesome?” 

“ Oh,  you  must  not  strain  probabilities  in  that  way.  The 
generality  of  men  are  perfect.  Take  me,  for  example.” 

“ You  are  a perfect  judge  of  sauces,”  said  Esther,  who  had 
her  triumphs  in  letting  Harold  know  that  she  was  capable 
of  taking  notes. 

“ That  is  perfection  number  one.  Pray  go  on.” 

“ Oh,  the  catalogue  is  too  long — I should  be  tired  before 
I got  to  your  magnificent  ruby  ring  and  your  gloves  always 
of  the  right  color.” 

“If  you  would  let  me  tell  you  your  perfections,  I should 
not  be  tired.” 

“ That  is  not  complimentary ; it  means  that  the  list  is 
short.” 

“ No ; it  means  that  the  list  is  pleasant  to  dwell  upon.” 

“ Pray  don’t  begin,”  said  Esther,  with  her  pretty  toss  of 
the  head  ; “it  would  be  dangerous  to  our  good  understand- 
ing. The  person  I liked  best  in  the  world  was  one  who  did 
nothing  but  scold  me  and  tell  me  of  my  faults.” 

When  Esther  began  to  speak,  she  meant  to  do  no  more 
than  make  a remote  unintelligible  allusion,  feeling,  it  must 
be  owned,  a naughty  will  to  flirt  and  be  saucy,  and  thwart 
Harold’s  attempts  to  be  felicitous  in  compliment.  But  she 
had  no  sooner  uttered  the  words  than  they  seemed  to  her 
like  a confession.  A deep  flush  spread  itself  over  her  face 
and  neck,  and  the  sense  that  she  was  blushing  went  on 
deepening  her  color.  Harold  felt  himself  unpleasantly  illumi- 
nated as  to  a possibility  that  had  never  yet  occurred  to  him. 
His.  surprise  made  an  uncomfortable  pause,  in  which  Esther 
had  time  to  feel  much  vexation. 

“ You  speak  in  the  past  tense,”  said  Harold,  at  last ; “yet 
I am  rather  envious  of  that  person.  I shall  never  be  able  to 
win  your  regard  in  the  same  way.  Is  it  anyone  at  Treby  ? 
Because  in  that  case  I can  enquire  about  your  faults.” 

“ Oh,  you  know  I have  always  lived  among  grave  people,” 
said  Esther,  more  able  to  recover  herself  now  she  was  spoken 
to.  “ Before  I came  home  to  be  with  my  father  I was 
nothing  but  a school-girl  first,  and  then  a teacher  in  different 
stages  of  growth.  People  in  those  circumstances  are  not 
usually  flattered.  But  there  are  varieties  in  fault-finding. 
At  our  Paris  school  the  master  I liked  best  was  an  old  man 
who  stormed  at  me  terribly  when.  I read  Racine,  but  yet 
showed  that  he  was  proud  of  me.” 


THE  RADICAL. 


339 


Esther  was  getting  quite  cool  again.  But  Harold  was  not 
entirely  satisfied  ; if  there  was  any  obstacle  in  his  way,  he 
wished  to  know  exactly  what  it  was. 

“ That  must  have  been  a wretched  life  for  you  at  Treby,” 
he  said — “ a person  of  your  accomplishments.” 

“ I used  to  be  dreadfully  discontented,”  said  Esther,  much 
occupied  with  mistakes  she  had  made  in  her  netting.  “ But 
I was  becoming  less  so.  I have  had  time  to  get  rather 
wise,  you  know  ; I am  two-and-twenty.” 

“Yes,”  said  Harold,  rising  and  walking  a few  paces  back- 
ward and  forward,  “you  are  past  your  majority;  you  are 
empress  of  your  own  fortunes — and  more  besides.” 

“ Dear  me,”  said  Esther,  letting  her  work  fall,  and  leaning 
back  against  the  cushions;  “I  don’t  think  I know  very  well 
what  to  do  with  my  empire.” 

“ Well,”  said  Harold,  pausing  in  front  of  her,  leaning  one 
arm  on  the  mantel-piece,  and  speaking  very  gravely,  “I  hope 
that  in  any  case,  since  you  appear  to  have  no  near  relative 
who  understands  affairs,  you  will  confide  in  me,  and  trust 
me  with  all  your  intentions  as  if  I had  no  other  personal 
concern  in  the  matter  than  a regard  for  you.  I hope  you 
believe  me  capable  of  acting  as  the  guardian  of  your  interest, 
even  where  it  turns  out  to  be  inevitably  opposed  to  my  own.” 
“ I am  sure  you  have  given  me  reason  to  believe  it,”  said 
Esther,  with  seriousness,  putting  out  her  hand  to  Harold. 
She  had  not  been  left  in  ignorance  that  he  had  had  oppor- 
tunities twice  offered  of  stifling  her  claims. 

Harold  raised  the  hand  to  his  lips,  but  dared  not  retain  it 
more  than  an  instant.  Still  the  sweet  reliance  in  Esther’s 
manner  made  an  irresistible  temptation  to  him.  After 
standing  still  a moment  or  two,  while  she  bent  over  her 
work,  he  glided  to  the  ottoman  and  seated  himself  close  by 
her,  looking  at  her  busy  hands. 

“I  see  you  have  made  mistakes  in  your  work,”  he  said, bend- 
ing still  nearer, for  he  saw  that  she  was  conscious, yet  not  angry. 

“ Nonsense  ! you  know  nothing  about  it,”  said  Esther, 
laughing,  and  crushing  up  the  soft  silk  under  her  palms. 
“ Those  blunders  have  a design  in  them.” 

She  looked  round,  and  saw  a handsome  face  very  near 
her.  Harold  was  looking,  as  he  felt,  thoroughly  enamored 
of  this  bright  woman,  who  was  not  at  all  to  his  preconceived 
taste.  Perhaps  a touch  of  hypothetic  jealousy  now  helped 
to  heighten  the  effect.  But  he  mastered  all  indiscretion, 
and  only  looked  at  her  as  he  said — 


340 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ I am  wondering  whether  you  have  any  deep  wishes  and 
secrets  that  I can’t  guess.” 

“ Pray  don’t  speak  of  my  wishes,”  Said  Esther,  quite 
overmastered  by  this  new  and  apparently  involuntary  mani- 
festation in  Harold;  “ I could  not  possibly  tell  you  one  at 
this  moment — I think  I shall  never  find  them  out  again. 
Oh,  yes,”  she  said, abruptly, struggling  to  relieve  herself  from 
the  oppression  of  unintelligible  feelings—' “I  do  know  one  wish 
distinctly.  I want  to  go  and  see  my  father.  He  writes  me 
word  that  all  is  well  with  him,  but  still  I want  to  see  him.” 
“ You  shall  be  driven  there  when  you  like.” 

“ May  I go  now — I mean  as  soon  as  it  is  convenient?” 
said  Esther,  rising. 

“I  will  give  the  order  immediately,  if  you  wish  it,”  said 
Harold,  understanding  that  the  audience  was  broken  up. 

CHAPTER  XLI. 


He  rates  me  as  the  merchant  does  the  wares 
He  will  not  purchase — “ quality  not  high  V 
’Twill  lose  its  color  opened  to  the  sun, 

Has  no  aroma,  and,  in  fine,  is  naught — 

I barter  not  for  such  commodities — 

There  is  no  ratio  betwixt  sands  and  gems.” 

’Tis  wicked  judgment  ! for  the  soul  can  grow, 

As  embryos,  that  live  and  move  but  blindly, 

Burst  from  the  dark,  emerge,  regenerate, 

And  lead  a life  of  vision  and  of  choice. 

Esther  did  not  take  the  carriage  into  Malthouse  Lane, 
but  left  it  to  wait  for  her  outside  the  town  ; and  when  she 
entered  the  house  she  put  her  finger  on  her  lip  to  Lyddy 
and  ran  lightly  up-stairs.  She  wished  to  surprise  her  father 
by  this  visit,  and  she  succeeded.  The  little  minister  was 
just  then  almost  surrounded  by  a wall  of  books,  with  merely 
his  head  peeping  above  them,  being  much  embarrassed  to 
find  a substitute  for  tables  and  desks  on  which  to  arrange 
the  volumes  he  kept  open  for  reference.  He  was  absorbed 
in  mastering  all  those  painstaking  interpretations  of  the 
Book  of  Daniel,  which  are  by  this  time  well  gone  to  the 
limbo  of  mistaken  criticism  ; and  Esther,  as  she  opened  the 
door  softly,  heard  him  rehearsing  aloud  a passage  in  which 
he  declared,  with  some  parenthetic  provisoes,  that  he 
conceived  not  how  a perverse  ingenuity  could  blunt  the 
edge  of  prophetic  explicitness,  or  how  an  open  mind  could 
fail  to  see  in  the  chronology  of  “ the  little  horn”  the  resplen- 
dent lamp  of  an  inspired  symbol  searching  out  the  germinal 
growth  of  an  anti-Christian  power. 


THE  RADICAL.  341 

“ You  will  not  like  me  to  interrupt  you,  father?”  said 
Esther,  slyly. 

“ Ah,  my  beloved  child  ! ” he  exclaimed,  upsetting  a pile 
of  books,  and  thus  unintentionally  making  a convenient 
breach  in  his  wall,  through  which  Esther  could  get  up  to 
him  and  kiss  him.  “ Thy  appearing  is  as  a joy  despaired 
of.  I had  thought  of  thee  as  the  blinded  think  of  the  day- 
light— which  indeed  is  a thing  to  rejoice  in,  like  all  other 
good,  though  we  see  it  not  nigh.” 

“ Are  you  sure  you  have  been  as  well  and  comfortable  as 
you  said  you  were  in  your  letters  ?”  said  Esther,  seating  her- 
self close  in  front  of  her  father  and  laying  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

“ I wrote  truly,  my  dear,  according  to  my  knowledge  at 
the  time.  But  to  an  old  memory  like  mine  the  present  days 
are  but  as  a little  water  poured  on  the  deep.  It  seems  now 
that  all  has  been  as  usual,  except  my  studies,  which  have 
gone  somewhat  curiously  into  prophetic  history.  But  I fear 
you  will  rebuke  me  for  my  negligent  apparel,”  said  the  little 
man,  feeling  in  front  of  Esther’s  brightness  like  a bat  over- 
taken by  the  morning. 

“ That  is  Lyddy’s  fault,  who  sits  crying  over  her  want  of 
Christian  assurance  instead  of  brushing  your  clothes  and 
putting  out  your  clean  cravat.  She  is  always  saying  her 
righteousness  is  filthy  rags,  and  really  I don’t  think  that  is 
a very  strong  expression  for  it.  I’m  sure  it  is  dusty  clothes 
and  furniture.” 

“ Nay,  my  dear,  your  playfulness  glances  too  severely  on 
our  faithful  Lyddy.  Doubtless  I am  myself  deficient,  in 
that  I do  not  aid  her  infirm  memory  by  admonition.  But 
now  tell  me  aught  that  you  have  left  untold  about  yourself. 
Your  heart  has  gone  out  somewhat  toward  this  family — the 
old  man  and  the  child,  whom  I had  not  reckoned  of  ? ” 

“ Yes,  father.  It  is  more  and  more  difficult  to  me  to  see 
how  I can  make  up  my  mind  to  disturb  these  people  at  all.” 

“ Something  should  doubtless  be  devised  to  lighten  the 
loss  and  the  change  to  the  aged  father  and  mother.  I would 
have  you  in  any  case  seek  to  temper  a vicissitude,  which  is 
nevertheless  a providential  arrangement  not  to  be  wholly  set 
aside.” 

“ Do  you  think,  father — do  you  feel  assured  that  a case 
of  inheritance  like  this  of  mine  is  a sort  of  providential 
arrangement  that  makes  a command  ? ” 

“ I have  so  held  it,”  said  Mr.  Lyon,  solemnly  ; “ in  all  my 


342 


FELIX  HOLT, 


meditations  I have  so  held  it.  For  you  have  to  consider, 
my  dear,  that  you  have  been  led  by  a peculiar  path,  and 
into  experience  which  is  not  ordinarily  the  lot  of  those  who 
are  seated  in  high  places,  and  what  I have  hinted  to  you 
already  in  my  letters  on  this  head,  I shall  wish  on  a future 
opportunity  to  enter  into  more  at  large.” 

Esther  was  uneasily  silent.  On  this  great  question  of  her 
lot  she  saw  doubts  and  difficulties,  in  which  it  seemed  as  if 
her  father  could  not  help  her.  There  was  no  illumination 
for  her  in  this  theory  of  providential  arrangement.  She  said 
suddenly  (what  she  had  not  thought  of  at  all  suddenly) — 

“ Have  you  been  again  to  see  Felix  Holt,  father  ? You 
have  not  mentioned  him  in  your  letters.” 

“I  have  been  since  I last  wrote,  my  dear,  and  I took  his 
mother  with  me,  who,  I fear,  made  the  time  heavy  to  him 
with  her  plaints.  But  afterward  I carried  her  away  to  the 
house  of  a brother  minister  at  Loamford,  and  returned  to 
Felix,  and  then  we  had  much  discourse.” 

“ Did  you  tell  him  of  everything  that  has  happened — I 
mean  about  me — about  the  Transomes  ? ” 

“ Assuredly  I told  him,  and  he  listened  as  one  astonished. 
For  he  had  much  to  hear,  knowing  naught  of  your  birth, 
and  that  you  had  any  other  father  than  Rufus  Lyon.  ’ Tis 
a narrative  I trust  I shall  not  be  called  on  to  give  to  others ; 
but  I was  not  without  satisfaction  in  unfolding  the  truth  to 
this  young  man,  who  hath  wrought  himself  into  my  affection 
strangely — I would  fain  hope  for  ends  that  will  be  a visible 
good  in  his  less  way-worn  life, when  mine  shall  be  no  longer.” 
“ And  you  told  him  how  the  Transomes  had  come,  and 
that  I was  staying  at  Transome  Court  ? ” 

“ Yes,  I told  these  things  with  some  particularity,  as  is 
my  wont  concerning  what  hath  imprinted  itself  on  my  mind.” 
“ What  did  Felix  say  ? ” 

“ Truly,  my  dear,  nothing  desirable  to  recite,”  said  Mr. 
Lyon,  rubbing  his  hand  over  his  brow. 

“ Dear  father,  he  did  say  something,  and  you  always  re- 
member what  people  say.  Pray  tell  me ; I want  to  know.” 
“ It  was  a hasty  remark,  and  rather  escaped  him  than  was 
consciously  framed.  He  said,  ‘ Then  she  will  marry  Tran- 
some ; that  is  what  Transome  means.’  ” 

“ That  was  all  ? ” said  Esther, turning  rather  pale,  and  biting 
her  lip  with  the  determination  that  the  tears  should  not  start. 

“ Yes,  we  did  not  go  further  into  that  branch  of  the  sub- 
ject. I apprehend  there  is  no  warrant  for  his  seeming 


THE  RADICAL. 


343 


prognostic,  and  I should  not  be  without  disquiet  if  I thought 
otherwise.  For  I confess  that  in  your  accession  to  this 
great  position  and  property,  I contemplate  with  hopeful 
satisfaction  your  remaining  attached  to  that  body  of 
congregational  Dissent,  which,  as  I hold,  hath  retained 
most  of  pure  and  primitive  discipline.  Your  education  and 
peculiar  history  would  thus  be  seen  to  have  coincided  with 
a long  train  of  events  in  making  this  family  property  a 
means  of  honoring  and  illustrating  a purer  form  of  Chris- 
tianity than  that  which  hath  unhappily  obtained  the  pre- 
eminence in  this  land.  I speak,  my  child,  as  you  know, 
always  in  the  hope  that  you  will  fully  join  our  communion  ; 
and  this  dear  wish  of  my  heart — nay,  this  urgent  prayer — 
would  seem  to  be  frustrated  by  your  marriage  with  a man, 
of  whom  there  is  at  least  no  visible  indication  that  he  would 
unite  himself  to  our  body.” 

If  Esther  had  been  less  agitated,  she  would  hardly  have 
helped  smiling  at  the  picture  her  father’s  words  suggested 
of  Harold  Transome  ‘‘joining  the  church  ” in  Malthouse 
Yard.  But  she  was  too  seriously  pre-occupied  with  what 
Felix  had  said,  which  hurt  her  in  a two-edged  fashion  that 
was  highly  significant.  First,  she  was  very  angry  with  him 
for  daring  to  say  positively  whom  she  would  marry  ; and 
secondly,  she  was  angry  at  the  implication  that  there  was 
from  the  first  a cool  deliberate  design  in  Harold  Transome 
to  marry  her.  Esther  said  to  . herself  that  she  was  quite 
capable  of  discerning  Harold  Transome’s  disposition,  and 
judging  of  his  conduct.  She  felt  sure  he  was  generous  and 
open.  It  did  not  lower  him  in  her  opinion  that  since  circum- 
stances had  brought  them  together  he  evidently  admired  her 
— was  in  love  with  her — in  short,  desired  to  marry  her ; and 
she  thought  that  she  discerned  the  delicacy  which  hindered 
him  from  being  more  explicit.  There  is  no  point  on  which 
young  women  are  more  easily  piqued  than  this  of  their 
sufficiency  to  judge  the  men  who  make  love  to  them.  And 
Esther’s  generous  nature  delighted  to  believe  in  generosity. 
All  these  thoughts  were  making  a tumult  in  her  mind  while 
her  father  was  suggesting  the  radiance  her  lot  might  cast 
on  the  cause  of  congregational  Dissent.  She  heard  what 
he  said,  and  remembered  it  afterward,  but  she  made  no 
reply  at  present,  and  chose  rather  to  start  up  in  search  of  a 
brush — an  action  which  would  seem  to  her  father  quite  a 
usual  sequence  with  her.  It  served  the  purpose  of  divert- 
ing him  from  a lengthy  subject. 


344 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ Have  you  yet  spoken  with  Mr.  Transome  concerning 
Mrs.  Holt,  my  dear?'’  he  said,  as  Esther  was  moving  about 
the  room.  “ I hinted  to  him  that  you  would  best  decide  how 
assistance  should  be  tendered  to  her.” 

“ No,  father,  we  have  not  approached  the  subject.  Mr. 
Transome  may  have  forgotten  it,  and,  for  several  reasons,  I 
would  rather  not  talk  of  this — of  money  matters  to  him  at 
present.  There  is  money  due  to  me  from  the  Lukyns  and 
the  Pendrells.” 

“ They  have  paid  it,”  said  Mr.  Lyon,  opening  his  desk. 
“ I have  it  here  ready  to  deliver  to  you.” 

“ Keep  it,  father,  and  pay  Mrs.  Holt  s rent  with  it,  and  do 
anything  else  that  is  wanted  for  her.  We  must  consider 
everything  temporary  now,”  said  Esther,  enveloping  her 
father  in  a towel,  and  beginning  to  brush  his  auburn  fringe 
of  hair,  while  he  shut  his  eyes  in  preparation  for  this  pleasant 
passivity.  “ Everything  is  uncertain — what  may  become  of 
Felix — what  may  become  of  us  all.  Oh,  dear  ! ” she  went 
on,  changing  suddenly  to  laughing  merriment,  “ I am  be- 
ginning to  talk  like  Lyddy,  I think.” 

“ Truly, ” said  Mr.  Lyon,  smiling,  “ the  uncertainty  of 
things  is  a text  rather  too  wide  and  obvious  for  fruitful  ap- 
plication ; and  to  discourse  of  it  is,  as  one  may  say,  to  bottle 
up  the  air,  and  make  a present  of  it  to  those  who  are  already 
standing  out  of  doors.” 

“ Do  you  think,”  said  Esther,  in  the  course  of  their  chat, 
“ that  the  Treby  people  know  at  all  about  the  reasons  of  my 
being  at  Transome  Court  ? ” 

“ I have  had  no  sign  thereof : and  indeed  there  is  no  one, 
as  it  appears,  who  could  make  the  story  public.  The  man 
Christian  is  away  in  London  with  Mr.  Debarry,  Parliament 
now  beginning  ; and  Mr.  Jermyn  would  doubtless  respect  the 
confidence  of  the  Transomes.  I have  not  seen  him  lately. 
I know  nothing  of  his  movements.  And  so  far  as  my  own 
speech  is  concerned,  and  my  strict  command  to  Lyddy,  I 
have  withheld  the  means  of  information  even  as  to  your 
having  returned  to  Transome  Court  in  the  carriage,  not  wish- 
ing to  give  any  occasion  to  solicitous  questibning  till  time 
hath  somewhat  inured  me.  But  it  hath  got  abroad  that  you 
are  there,  and  is  the  subject  of  conjectures,  whereof,  I imagine, 
the  chief  is,  that  you  are  gone  as  companion  to  Mistress 
Transome;  for  some  of  our  friends  have  already  hinted  a 
rebuke  to  me  that  I should  permit  your  taking  a position  so 
little  likely  to  further  your  spiritual  welfare.” 


THE  RADICAL. 


345 


“ Now,  father,  I think  I shall  be  obliged  to  run  away  from 
you,  not  to  keep  the  carriage  too  long/’  said  Esther,  as  she 
finished  her  reforms  on  the  minister’s  toilet.  “ You  look  beau- 
tiful now,  and  I must  give  Lyddy  a little  lecture  before  I go.” 

“Yes,  my  dear;  I would  not  detain  you,  seeing  that  my 
duties  demand  me.  But  take  with  you  this  Treatise,  which 
I have  purposely  selected.  It  concerns  all  the  main  ques- 
tions between  ourselves  and  the  Establishment — government, 
discipline,  state-support.  It  is  seasonable  that  you  should 
give  a nearer  attention  to  these  polemics,  lest  you  be  drawn 
aside  by  the  fallacious  association  of  a State  Church  with 
elevated  rank.” 

Esther  chose  to  take  the  volume  submissively,  rather  than 
to  adopt  the  ungraceful  sincerity  of  saying  that  she  was  un- 
able at  present  to  give  her  mind  to  the  original  functions  of 
a bishop  or  the  comparative  merit  of  Endowments  and 
Voluntaryism.  But  she  did  not  run  her  eyes  over  the  pages 
during  her  solitary  drive  to  get  a foretaste  of  the  argument, 
for  she  was  entirely  occupied  with  Felix  Holt’s  prophecy 
that  she  would  marry  Harold  Transome. 

CHAPTER  XLII. 

Thou  sayst  it,  and  not  I ; for  thou  hast  done 
The  ugly  deed  that  made  these  ugly  words. 

—Sophocles  : Electro, . 

Yea,  it  becomes  a man 
To  cherish  memory,  where  he  had  delight. 

For  kindness  is  the  natural  birth  of  kindness. 

Whose  soul  records  not  the  great  debt  of  joy, 

Is  stamped  for  ever  an  ignoble  man. 

— Sophocles:  Ajax. 

It  so  happened  that,  on  the  morning  of  the  day  when  Esther 
went  to  see  her  father,  Jermyn  had  not  yet  heard  of  her  pres- 
ence at  Transome  Court.  One  fact  conducing  to  keep  him 
in  this  ignorance  was,  that  some  days  after  his  critical  inter- 
view with  Harold — days  during  which  he  had  been  wonder- 
ing how  long  it  would  be  before  Harold  made  up  his  mind 
to  sacrifice  the  luxury  of  satisfied  anger  for  the  solid  advan- 
tage of  securing  fortune  and  position — he  was  peremptorily 
called  away  by  business  to  the  south  of  England,  and  was 
40  obliged  to  inform  Harold  by  letter  of  his  absence.  He  took 
care  also  to  notify  his  return  ; but  Harold  made  no  sign  in 
reply.  The  days  passed  without  bringing  him  any  gossip  con- 
cerning Esther’s  visit,  for  such  gossip  was  almost  confined 
to  Mr.  Lyon’s  congregation,  her  Church  pupils,  Miss  Louisa 
Jermyn  among  them,  having  been  satisfied  by  her  father’s 
written  statement  that  she  was  gone  on  a visit  of  uncertain 


346 


FELIX  HOLT, 


duration.  But  on  this  day  of  Esther’s  call  in  Malthouse  Yard, 
the  Miss  Jermyns  in  their  walk  saw  her  getting  into  the  Tran- 
somes’  carriage,  which  they  had  previously  observed  to  be 
waiting,  and  which  they  now  saw  bowled  along  on  the  road 
toward  Little  Treby.  It  followed  that  only  a few  hours  later 
the  news  reached  the  astonished  ears  of  Matthew  Jermyn. 

Entirely  ignorant  of  those  converging  indications  and  small 
links  of  incident  which  had  raised  Christian’s  conjectures, 
and  had  gradually  contributed  to  put  him  in  possession  of 
the  facts  ; ignorant  too  of  some  busy  motives  in  the  mind  of 
his  obliged  servant  Johnson  ; Jermyn  was  not  likely  to  see 
at  once  how  the  momentous  information  that  Esther  was  the 
surviving  Bycliffe  could  possibly  have  reached  Harold.  His 
daughters  naturally  leaped,  as  others  had  done,  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  the  Transomes,  seeking  a governess  for  little  Harry, 
had  had  their  choice  directed  to  Esther,  and  observed  that 
they  must  have  attracted  her  by  a high  salary  to  induce  her 
to  take  charge  of  such  a small  pupil  ; though  of  course  it 
was  important  that  his  English  and  French  should  be  care- 
fully attended  to  from  the  first.  Jermyn,  hearing  this  sugges- 
tion, was  not  without  a momentary  hope  that  it  might  be  true, 
and  that  Harold  was  still  safely  unconscious  of  having  under 
the  same  roof  with  him  the  legal  claimant  of  the  family  estate. 

But  a mind  in  the  grasp  of  a terrible  anxiety  is  not  credu- 
lous of  easy  solutions.  The  one  stay  that  bears  up  our  hopes 
is  sure  to  appear  frail,  and  if  looked  at  long  will  seem  to 
totter.  Too  much  depended  on  that  unconsciousness  of 
Harold’s  ; and  although  Jermyn  did  not  see  the  course  of 
things  that  could  have  disclosed  and  combined  the  various 
items  of  knowledge  which  he  had  imagined  to  be  his  own 
secret,  and  therefore  his  safeguard,  he  saw  quite  clearly  what 
was  likely  to  be  the  result  of  the  disclosure.  Not  only  would 
Harold  Transome  be  no  longer  afraid  of  him,  but  also,  by 
marrying  Esther  (and  Jermyn  at  once  felt  sure  of  this  issue), 
would  be  triumphantly  freed  from  any  unpleasant  conse- 
quences, and  could  pursue  much  at  his  ease  the  gratification 
of  ruining  Matthew  Jermyn.  The  prevision  of  an  enemy’s 
triumphant  ease  is  in  any  case  sufficiently  irritating  to  hatred, 
and  there  were  reasons  why  it  was  peculiarly  exasperating  here : 
but  Jermyn  had  not  the  leisure  now  for  mere  fruitless  emo- 
tion ; he  had  to  think  of  a possible  device  which  might  save 
him  from  imminent  ruin — not  an  indefinite  adversity,  but 
a ruin  in  detail,  which  his  thoughts  painted  out  with  the 
sharpest,  ugliest  intensity.  A man  of  sixty,  with  an  unsus- 


THE  RADICAL. 


347 


picious  wife  and  daughters  capable  of  shrieking  and  fainting 
at  a sudden  revelation,  and  of  looking  at  him  reproachfully 
in  their  daily  misery  under  a shabby  lot  to  which  he  had 
reduced  them — with  a mind  and  with  habits  dried  hard  by 
the  years — with  no  glimpse  of  an  endurable  standing-ground 
except  where  he  could  domineer  and  be  prosperous  accord- 
ing to  the  ambitions  of  pushing  middle-class  gentility, — such 
a man  is  likely  to  find  the  prospect  of  worldly  ruin  ghastly 
enough  to  drive  him  to  the  most  uninviting  means  of  escape. 
He  will  probably  prefer  any  private  scorn  that  will  save  him 
from  public  infamy,  or  that  will  leave  him  with  money  in  his 
pocket,  to  the  humiliation  and  hardship  of  new  servitude  in 
old  age,  a shabby  hat  and  a melancholy  hearth,  where  the 
firing  must  be  used  charily  and  the  women  look  sad.  But 
though  a man  may  be  willing  to  escape  through  a sewer,  a 
sewer  with  an  outlet  into  the  dry  air  is  not  always  at  hand. 
Running  away,  especially  when  spoken  of  as  absconding, 
seems  at  a distance  to  offer  a good  modern  substitute  for  the 
right  of  sanctuary  ; but  seen  closely,  it  is  often  found  incon- 
venient and  scarcely  possible. 

Jermyn,  on  thoroughly  considering  his  position,  saw  that 
he  had  no  very  agreeable  resources  at  command.  But  he 
soon  made  up  his*  mind  what  he  would  do  next.  He  wrote 
to  Mrs.  Transome  requesting  her  to  appoint  an  hour  in  which 
he  could  see  her  privately  : he  knew  she  would  understand 
that  it  was  to  be  an  hour  when  Harold  was  not  at  home.  As 
he  sealed  the  letter,  he  indulged  a faint  hope  that  in  this 
interview  he  might  be  assured  of  Esther’s  birth  being  un- 
known at  Transome  Court  ; but  in  the  worst  case,  perhaps 
some  help  might  be  found  in  Mrs.  Transome.  To  such  uses 
may  tender  relations  come  when  they  have  ceased  to  be  ten- 
der ! The  Hazaels  of  our  world  who  are  pushed  on  quickly 
against  their  preconceived  confidence  in  themselves  to  do 
doglike  actions  by  the  sudden  suggestion  of  a wicked  ambi- 
tion, are  much  fewer  than  those  who  are  led  on  through  the 
years  by  the  gradual  demands  of  a selfishness  which  has 
spread  its  fibres  far  and  wide  through  the  intricate  vanities 
and  sordid  cares  of  an  every-day  existence. 

In  consequence  of  that  letter  to  Mrs.  Transome,  Jermyn 
was,  two  days  afterward,  ushered  into  the  smaller  drawing- 
room at  Transome  Court.  It  was  a charming  little  room  in 
its  refurbished  condition  : it  had  two  pretty  inlaid  cabinets, 
great  china  vases  with  contents  that  sent  forth  odors  of  para* 
dise,  groups  of  flowers  in  oval  frames  on  the  walls,  and  Mrs. 


348 


FELIX  HOLT, 


Transome’s  own  portrait  in  the  evening  costume  of  1800, 
with  a garden  in  the  background.  That  brilliant  young 
woman  looked  smilingly  down  on  Mr.  Jermyn  as  he  passed 
in  front  of  the  fire  ; and  at  present  hers  was  the  only  gaze 
in  the  room.  He  could  not  help  meeting  the  gaze  as  he 
waited,  holding  his  hat  behind  him — could  not  help  seeing 
many  memories  lit  up  by  it  ; but  the  strong  bent  of  his  mind 
was  to  go  on  arguing  each  memory  into  a claim,  and  to  see 
in  the  regard  others  had  for  him  a merit  of  his  own.  There 
had  been  plenty  of  roads  open  to  him  when  he  was  a young 
man  ; perhaps  if  he  had  not  allowed  himself  to  be  deter- 
mined (chiefly,  of  course,  by  the  feelings  of  others,  for  of  what 
effect  would  his  own  feelings  have  been  without  them?)  into 
the  road  he  actually  took,  he  might  have  done  better  for 
himself.  At  any  rate,  he  was  likely  at  last  to  get  the  worst 
of  it,  and  it  was  he  who  had  most  reason  to  complain.  The 
fortunate  Jason,  asjwe  know  from  Euripides,  piously  thanked 
the  goddess,  and  saw  clearly  that  he  was  not  at  all  obliged 
to  Medea  ; Jermyn  was,  perhaps,  not  aware  of  the-precedent, 
but  thought  out  his  own  freedom  from  obligation  and  the 
indebtedness  of  others  toward  him  with  a native  faculty  not 
inferior  to  Jason’s. 

Before  three  minutes  had  passed,  however,  as  if  by  some 
sorcery,  the  brilliant  smiling  young  woman  above  the  mantel- 
piece seemed  to  be  appearing  at  the  doorway  withered  and 
frosted  by  many  winters,  and  with  lips  and  eyes  from  which 
the  smile  had  departed.  Jermyn  advanced,  and  they  shook 
hands,  but  neither  of  them  said  anything  by  way  of  greeting. 
Mrs.  Transome  seated  herself,  and  pointed  to  a chair  oppo- 
site and  near  her. 

“ Harold  has  gone  to  Loamford,”  she  said,  in  a subdued 
tone.  “ You  had  something  particular  to  say  to  me?” 

“ Yes,”  said  Jermyn,  with  his  soft  and  deferential  air.  “ The 
last  time  I was  here  I could  not  take  the  opportunity  of 
speaking  to  you.  But  I am  anxious  to  know  whether  you 
are  aware  of  what  has  passed  between  me  and  Harold  ? ” 

“ Yes,  he  has  told  me  everything.” 

“ About  his  proceedings  against  me  ? and  the  reason  he 
stopped  them  ? ” 

“ Yes  : have  you  had  notice  that  he  has  begun  them  again  ? ” 

“No,”  said  Jermyn,  with  a very  unpleasant  sensation. 

“ Of  course  he  will  now,”  said  Mrs.  Transome.  “ There 
is  no  reason  in  his  mind  why  he  should  not.” 

“ Has  he  resolved  to  risk  the  estate  then  ? ” 


THE  RADICAL. 


349 


“ He  feels  in  no  danger  on  that  score.  And  if  there  were, 
the  danger  doesn't  depend  on  you.  The  most  likely  thing 
is,  that  he  will  marry  this  girl.” 

“ He  knows  everything  then  ?”  said  Jermyn,  the  expres- 
sion of  his  face  getting  clouded. 

“ Everything.  It’s  of  no  use  for  you  to  think  of  master- 
ing him  : you  can’t  do  it.  I used  to  wish  Harold  to  be 
fortunate,  and  he  is  fortunate,”  said  Mrs.  Transome,  with 
intense  bitterness.  “ It’s  not  my  star  that  he  inherits.” 

“ Do  you  know  how  he  came  by  the  information  about 
this  girl?” 

“ No  ; but  she  knew  it  all  before  we  spoke  to  her.  It’s 
no  secret.” 

Jermyn  was  confounded  by  this  hopeless  frustration  to 
which  he  had  no  key.  Though  he  thought  of  Christian,  the 
thoughtshed  no  light  ; but  the  more  fatal  point  was  clear  : 
he  held  no  secret  that  could  help  him. 

“You  are  aware  that  these  chancery  proceedings  may 
ruin  me  ? ” 

“ He  told  me  they  would.  But  if  you  are  imagining  I can 
do  anything,  pray  dismiss  the  notion.  I have  told  him  as 
plainly  as  I dare  that  I wish  him  to  drop  all  public  quarrel 
with  you,  and  that  you  could  make  an  arrangement  without 
scandal.  I can  do  no  more.  He  will  not  listen  to  me  ; he 
doesn’t  mind  about  my  feelings.  He  cares  more  for  Mr. 
Transome  than  he  does  for  me.  He  will  not  listen  to  me 
any  more  than  if  I were  an  old  ballad-singer.” 

“ It’s  very  hard  on  me,  I know,”  said  Jermyn,  in  the  tone 
with  which  a man  flings  out  a reproach. 

“ I besought  you  three  months  ago  to  bear  anything 
rather  than  quarrel  with  him.” 

“ I have  not  quarrelled  with  him.  It  is  he  who  has  been 
always  seeking  a quarrel  with  me.  I have  borne  a great 
deal — more  than  any  one  else  would.  He  set  his  teeth 
against  me  from  the  first.” 

“ He  saw  things  that  annoyed  him  ; and  men  are  not  like 
women,”  said  Mrs.  Transome.  There  was  bitter  innuendo 
in  that  truism. 

“It’s  very  hard  on  me — I know  that,”  said  Jermyn,  with 
an  intensification  of  his  previous  tone,  rising  and  walking  a 
step  or  two,  then  turning  and  laying  his  hand  on  the  back  of 
the  chair.  “ Of  course  the  law  in  this  case  can’t  in  the  least 
represent  the  justice  of  the  matter.  I made  a good  many  sac- 
rifices in  times  past.  I gave  up  a great  deal  of  fine  business 


FELIX  HOLT, 


for  the  sake  of  attending  to  the  family  affairs,  and  in  that 
lawsuit  they  would  have  gone  to  rack  and  ruin  if  it  hadn’t 
been  for  me.” 

He  moved  away  again,  laid  down  his  hat,  which  he  had 
been  previously  holding,  and  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets 
as  he  returned.  Mrs.  Transome  sat  motionless  as  marble, 
and  almost  as  pale.  Her  hands  lay  crossed  on  her  knees. 
This  man,  young,  slim,  and  graceful,  with  a selfishness  which 
then  took  the  form  of  homage  to  her,  had  atone  time  kneeled 
to  her  and  kissed  those  hands  fervently,  and  she  had  thought 
there  was  a poetry  in  such  passion  beyond  any  to  be  found 
in  everyday  domesticity. 

“ I stretched  my  conscience  a good  deal  in  that  affair  of 
Bycliffe,  as  you  know  perfectly  well.  I told  you  everything 
at  the  time.  I told  you  I was  very  uneasy  about  those  wit- 
nesses, and  about  getting  him  thrown  into  prison.  I know  it’s 
the  blackest  thing  anybody  could  charge  me  with,  if  they 
knew  my  life  from  beginning  to  end  ; and  I should  never 
have  done  it,  if  I had  not  been  under  an  infatuation  such  as 
makes  a man  do  anything.  What  did  it  signify  to  me  about 
the  loss  of  the  lawsuit  ? I was  a young  bachelor — I had  the 
world  before  me.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Mrs.  Transome,  in  a low  tone.  “ It  was  a pity 
you  didn’t  make  another  choice.” 

“ What  would  have  become  of  you?”  said  Jermyn,  car- 
ried along  a climax,  like  other  self-justifiers.  “ I had  to  think 
of  you.  You  would  not  have  liked  me  to  make  another 
choice  then.” 

“ Clearly,”  said  Mrs.  Transome,  with  concentrated  bitter- 
ness, but  still  quietly  ; “ the  greater  mistake  was  mine.” 

Egoism  is  usually  stupid  in  a dialogue  ; but  Jermyn’s  did 
not  make  him  so  stupid  that  he  did  not  feel  the  edge  of  Mrs. 
Transome’s  words.  They  increased  his  irritation. 

“ I hardly  see  that,”  he  replied,  with  a slight  laugh  of 
scorn.  “ You  had  an  estate  and  a position  to  save,  to  go  no 
farther.  I remember  very  well  what  you  said  to  me — ‘ A 
clever  lawyer  can  do  anything  if  he  has  the  will ; if  it’s  im- 
possible, he  will  make  it  possible.  And  the  property  is  sure 
to  be  Harold’s  some  day.’  He  was  a baby  then.” 

“ I remember  most  things  a little  too  well  ; you  had  better 
say  at  once  what  is  your  object  in  recalling  them.” 

“ An  object  that  is  nothing  more  than  justice.  With  the 
relation  I stood  in,  it  was  not  likely  I should  think  myself 
bound  by  all  the  forms  that  are  made  to  bind  strangers.  I 


THE  RADICAL. 


3Si 

had  often  immense  trouble  to  raise  the  money  necessary  to 
pay  off  debts  and  carry  on  the  affairs  ; and,  as  I said  before, 

I had  given  up  other  lines  of  advancement  which  would  have 
been  open  to  me  if  I had  not  stayed  in  this  neighborhood  at 
a critical  time  when  I was  fresh  to  the  world.  Anybody 
who  knew  the  whole  circumstances  would  say  That  my  being 
hunted  and  run  down  on  the  score  of  my  past  transactions 
with  regard  to  the  family  affairs,  is  an  abominably  unjust 
and  unnatural  thing.” 

Jermyn  paused  a moment,  and  then  added,  “ At  my  time 

of  life —and  with  a family  about  me and  after  what  has 

passed 1 should  have  thought  there  was  nothing  you 

would  care  more  to  prevent.” 

“ I do  care.  It  makes  me  miserable.  That  is  the  extent 
of  my  power — to  feel  miserable.” 

“ No,  it  is  not  the  extent  of  your  power.  You  could  save 
me  if  you  would.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Harold 
would  go  on  against  me — if  he  knew  the  whole  truth.” 

Jermyn  had  sat  down  before  he  uttered  the  last  words. 
He  had  lowered  his  voice  slightly.  He  had  the  air  of  one 
who  thought  that  he  had  prepared  the  way  for  an  under- 
standing. That  a man  with  so  much  sharpness,  with  so 
much  suavity  at  command — a man  who  piqued  himself  on 
his  persuasiveness  toward  women — should  behave  just  as 
Jermyn  did  on  this  occasion,  would  be  surprising  but  for  the 
constant  experience  that  temper  and  selfish  insensibility  will 
defeat  excellent  gifts — will  make  a sensible  person  shout 
when  shouting  is  out  of  place,  and  will  make  a polished  man 
rude  when  his  polish  might  be  of  eminent  use  to  him'. 

As  Jermyn, sitting  down  and  leaning  forward  with  an  elbow 
on  his  knee,  uttered  his  last  words — “ if  he  knew  the  whole 
truth  a slight  shock  seemed  to  pass  through  Mrs.  Tran- 
some’s  hitherto  motionless  body,  followed  by  a sudden  light 
in  her  eyes,  as  in  an  animal’s  about  to  spring. 

“ And  you  expect  me  to  tell  him  ?”  she  said,  not  loudly,  • 
but  yet  with  a clear  metallic  ring  in  her  voice. 

“ Would  it  not  be  right  for  him  to  know  ?”  said  Jermyn, 
in  a more  bland  and  persuasive  tone  than  he  had  yet  used. 

Perhaps  some  of  the  most  terrible  irony  of  the  human  lot 
is  this  of  a deep  truth  coming  to  be  uttered  by  lips  that  have 
no  right  to  it. 

“ I will  never  tell  him  !”  said  Mrs.  Transome,  starting  up, 
her  whole  frame  thrilled  with  a passion  that  seemed  almost 
to  make  her  young  again.  Her  hands  hung  beside  her 


FELIX  HOLT, 


3S2 

clenched  tightly,  her  eyes  and  lips  lost  the  helpless  repressed 
bitterness  of  discontent,  and  seemed  suddenly  fed  with  en- 
ergy. “ You  reckon  up  your  sacrifices  for  me  : you  have 
kept  a good  account  of  them,  and  it  is  needful : they  are 
some  of  them  what  no  one  else  could  guess  or  find  out. 
But  you  made  your  sacrifices  when  they  seemed  pleasant  to 
you  ; when  you  told  me  they  were  your  happiness;  when  you 
told  me  that  it  was  I who  stooped,  and  I who  bestowed  favors.” 

Jermyn  rose  too, and  laid  his  hand  on  the  back  of  the  chair. 
He  had  grown  visibly  paler,  but  seemed  about  to  speak. 

“Don’t  speak!”  Mrs.  Transome  said  peremptorily. 
“ Don’t  open  your  lips  again.  You  have  said  enough  ; I 
will  speak  now.  I have  made  sacrifices  too,  but  it  was  when 
I knew  that  they  were  not  my  happiness.  It  was  after  I saw 
that  I had  stooped — after  I saw  that  your  tenderness  had 
turned  into  calculation — after  I saw  that  you  cared  for  your- 
self only,  and  not  for  me.  I heard  your  explanations — of 
your  duty  in  life — of  our  mutual  reputation — of  a virtuous 
young  lady  attached  to  you.  I bore  it  ; I let  everything  go  ; 
I shut  my  eyes  : I might  almost  have  let  myself  starve,  rather 
than  have  scenes  of  quarrel  with  the  man  I had  loved,  in  which 
I must  accuse  him  of  turning  my  love  into  a good  bargain.” 
There  was  a slight  tremor  in  Mrs.  Transome’s  voice  in  the 
last  words,  and  for  a moment  she  paused  : but  when  she 
spoke  again  it  seemed  as  if  the  tremor  had  frozen  into  a cut- 
ting icicle.  “ I suppose  if  a lover  picked  one’s  pocket,  there’s 
no  woman  would  like  to  own  it.  I don’t  say  I was  not  afraid 
of  you  : I 7 vas  afraid  of  you,  and  I know  now  I was  right.” 

“Mrs.  Transome,”  said  Jermyn,  white  to  the  lips,  “ it  is 
needless  to  say  more.  I withdraw  any  words  that  have 
offended  you.” 

“ You  can’t  withdraw  them.  Can  a man  apologize  for 
being  a dastard  ? — And  I have  caused  you  to  strain  your 
conscience,  have  I ? — it  is  I who  have  sullied  your  purity  ? I 
should  think  the  demons  have  more  honor — they  are  not  so 
impudent  to  one  another.  I would  not  lose  the  misery  of 
being  a woman,  now  I see  what  can  be  the  baseness  of  a 
man.  One  must  be  a man — first  to  tell  a woman  that  her 
love  has  made  her  your  debtor,  and  then  ask  her  to  pay  you  by 
breaking  thelastpoor  threads  between  her  and  her  son.” 

“ I do  not  ask  it,”  said  Jermyn,  with  a certain  asperity. 
He  was  beginning  to  find  this  intolerable.  The  mere  brute 
strength  of  a masculine  creature  rebelled.  He  felt  almost 
inclined  to  throttle  the  voice  out  of  this  woman. 


THE  RADICAL. 


353 


“ You  do  ask  it : it  is  what  you  would  like.  I have  had 
a terror  on  me  lest  evil  should  happen  to  you.  From  the 
first,  after  Harold  came  home,  1 had  a terrible  dread.  It 
seemed  as  if  murder  might  come  between  you — I didn’t 
know  what.  I felt  the  horror  of  his  not  knowing  the 
truth.  I might  have  been  dragged  at  last,  by  my  own 
feeling — by  my  own  memory — to  tell  him  all,  and  make  him 
as  well  as  myself  miserable,  to  save  you.” 

Again  there  was  a slight  tremor,  as  if  at  the  remembrance 
of  womanly  tenderness  and  pity.  But  immediately  she 
launched  forth  again. 

“But  now  you  have  asked  me,  I will  never  tell  him  ! Be 
ruined — no — do  something  more  dastardly  to  save  yourself. 
If  I sinned,  my  judgment  went  beforehand — that  I should 
sin  for  a man  like  you.” 

Swiftly  upon  those  last  words  Mrs.  Transome  passed  out 
of  the  room.  The  softly  padded  door  closed  behind  her 
making  no  noise,  and  Jermyn  found  himself  alone. 

For  a brief  space  he  stood  still.  Human  beings  in  mo- 
ments of  passionate  reproach  and  denunciation,  especially 
when  their  anger  is  on  their  own  account,  are  never  so  wholly 
in  the  right  that  the  person  who  has  to  wince  cannot  pos- 
sibly protest  against  some  unreasonableness  or  unfairness  in 
their  outburst.  And  if  Jermyn  had  been  capable  of  feeling 
that  he  had  thoroughly  merited  this  infliction,  he  would  not 
have  uttered  the  words  that  drew  it  down  on  him.  Men  do 
not  become  penitent  and  learn  to  abhor  themselves  by  hav- 
ing their  backs  cut  open  with  the  lash  ; rather,  they  learn  to 
abhor  the  lash.  What  Jermyn  felt  about  Mrs.  Transome 
when  she  disappeared  was,  that  she  was  a furious  woman — 
who  would  not  do  what  he  wanted  her  to  do.  And  he  was 
supported  as  to  his  justifiableness  by  the  inward  repetition 
of  what  he  had  already  said  to  her  ; it  was  right  that  Har- 
old should  know  the  truth.  He  did  not  take  into  account 
(how  should  he?)  the  exasperation  and  loathing  excited  by 
his  daring  to  urge  the  plea  of  right.  A man  who  had  stolen 
the  pyx,  and  got  frightened  when  justice  was  at  his  heels, 
might  feel  the  sort  of  penitence  which  would  induce  him  to 
run  back  in  the  dark  and  lay  the  pyx  where  the  sexton  might 
find  it  ; but  if  in  doing  so  he  whispered  to  the  Blessed  Vir- 
gin that  he  was  moved  by  considering  the  sacredness  of  all 
property,  and  the  peculiar  sacredness  of  the  pyx,  it  is  not  to 
be  believed  that  she  would  like  him  the  better  for  it.  In- 
deed, one  often  seems  to  see  why  the  saints  should  prefer 


354 


FELIX  HOLT, 


candles  to  words,  especially  from  penitents  whose  skin  is  in 
danger.  Some  salt  of  generosity  would  have  made  Jermyn 
conscious  that  he  had  lost  the  citizenship  which  authorized 
him  to  plead  the  right  ; still  more,  that  his  self-vindication 
to  Mrs.  Transome  would  be  like  the  exhibition  of  a brand- 
mark,  and  only  show  that  he  was  shame-proof.  There  is 
heroism  even  in  the  circles  of  hell  for  fellow-sinners  who 
cling  to  each  other  in  the  fiery  whirlwind  and  never  recrimi- 
nate. But  these  things,  which  are  easy  to  discern  when  they 
are  painted  for  us  on  the  large  canvas  of  poetic  story,  be- 
come confused  and  obscure  even  for  well-read  gentlemen 
when  their  affection  for  themselves  is  alarmed  by  pressing 
details  of  actual  experience.  If  their  comparison  of  instances 
is  active  at  such  times,  it  is  chiefly  in  showing  them  that  their 
own  case  has  subtle  distinctions  from  all  other  cases,  which 
should  free  them  from  unmitigated  condemnation. 

And  it  was  in  this  way  with  Matthew  Jermyn.  So  many 
things  were  more  distinctly  visible  to  him,  and  touched  him 
more  acutely,  than  the  effect  of  his  acts  or  words  on  Mrs. 
Transome’s  feelings  ! In  fact — he  asked,  with  a touch  of 
something  that  makes  us  all  akin — was  it  not  preposterous, 
this  excess  of  feeling  on  points  which  he  himself  did  not  find 
powerfully  moving  ? She  had  treated  him  most  unreasonably. 
It  would  have  been  right  for  her  to  do  what  he  had — not 
asked,  but  only  hinted  at  in  a mild  and  interrogatory  manner. 
But  the  clearest  and  most  unpleasant  result  of  the  interview 
was,  that  this  right  thing  which  he  desired  so  much  would 
certainly  not  be  done  for  him  by  Mrs.  Transome. 

As  he  was  moving  his  arm  from  the  chair-back, and  turning 
to  take  his  hat,  there  was  a boisterous  noise  in  the  entrance- 
hall;  the  door  of  the  drawing-room,  which  had  closed  without 
latching,  was  pushed  open,  and  old  Mr.  Transome  appeared 
with  a face  of  feeble  delight,  playing  horse  tolittleHarry,  who 
roared  and  flogged  behind  him, while  Moro  yapped  in  a puppy 
voice  at  their  heels.  But  when  Mr.  Transome  saw  Jermyn  in 
the  room  he  stood  still  in  the  door-way,  as  if  he  did  not  know 
whether  entrance  was  permissible.  The  - majority  of  his 
thoughts  were  but  ravelled  threads  of  the  past.  The  attorney 
came  forward  to  shake  hands  with  due  politeness, but  the  old 
man  said,  with  a bewildered  look,  and  in  a hesitating  way — 

“ Mr.  Jermyn? — why — why — where  is  Mrs.  Transome?” 

Jermyn  smiled  his  way  out  past  the  unexpected  group  ; and 
little  Harry,  thinking  he  had  an  eligible  opportunity,  turned 
round  to  give  a parting  stroke  on  the  stranger’s  coat-tails. 


THE  RADICAL. 


355 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

Whichever  way  my  days  decline, 

I felt  and  feel,  tjiough  left  alone, 

His  being  working  in  mine  own, 

The  footsteps  of  his  life  in  mine. 

****** 

Dear  friend,  far  off,  my  lost  desire 
So  far,  so  near,  in  woe  and  weal ; 

Oh,  loved  the  most  when  most  I feel 
. There  is  a lower  and  a higher  ! 

— Tennyson  : In  Memoriam. 

After  that  morning  on  which  Esther  found  herself  red- 
dened and  confused  by  the  sense  of  having  made  a distant 
allusion  to  Felix  Holt,  she  felt  it  impossible  that  she  should 
even,  as  she  had  sometimes  intended,  speak  of  him  ex- 
plicity  to  Harold,  in  order  to  discuss  probabilities  as  to  the 
issue  of  his  trial.  She  was  certain  she  could  not  do  it  with- 
out betraying  emotion,  and  there  were  \^ery  complex  reasons 
in  Esther’s  mind  why  she  could  not  bear  that  Harold  should 
detect  her  sensibility  on  this  subject.  It  was  not  only  all 
the  fibres  of  maidenly  pride  and  reserve,  of  a bashfulness 
undefinably  peculiar  toward  this  man,  who,  while  much  older 
than  herself,  and  bearing  the  stamp  of  an  experience  quite 
hidden  from  her  imagination,  was  taking  strongly  the  aspect 
of  a lover — it  was  not  only  this  exquisite  kind  of  shame 
which  was  at  work  within  her  : there  was  another  sort  of 
susceptibility  in  Esther,  which  her  present  circumstances 
tended  to  encourage,  though  she  had  come  to  regard  it  as 
not  at  all  lofty,  but  rather  as  something  which  condemned 
her  to  littleness  in  comparison  with  a mind  she  had  learned 
to  venerate.  She  knew  quite  well  that,  to  Harold  Transome, 
Felix  Holt  was  one  of  the  common  people  who  could  come 
into  question  in  no  other  than  a public  light.  She  had  a 
native  capability  for  discerning  that  the  sense  of  ranks  and 
degrees  has  its  repulsions  corresponding  to  the  repulsions 
dependent  on  difference  of  race  and  color  ; and  she  remem- 
bered her  own  impressions  too  well  not  to  foresee  that  it 
would  come  on  Harold  Transome  as  a shock,  if  he  suspected 
there  had  been  any  love-passages  between  her  and  this  young 
man,  who  to  him  was  of  course  no  more  than  any  other  in- 
telligent member  of  the  working  class.  “To  him,”  said 
Esther  to  herself,  with  a reaction  of  her  newer,  better  pride, 
“who  has  not  had  the  sort  of  intercourse  in  which  Felix 
Holt’s  cultured  nature  would  have  asserted  its  superiority.” 
And  in  her  fluctuations  on  this  matter,  she  found  herself 
mentally  protesting  that,  whatever  Harold  might  think, 


FELIX  HOLT, 


356 

there  was  a light  in  which  he  was  vulgar  compared  with  Felix. 
Felix  had  ideas  and  motives  which  she  did  not  believe  Har- 
old could  understand.  More  than  all,  there  was  this  test  : 
she  herself  had  no  sense  of  inferiority  and  just  subjection 
when  she  was  with  Harold  Transome;  there  were  even  points 
in  him  for  which  she  felt  a touch,  not  of  anger,  but  of  play- 
ful scorn  ; whereas  with  Felix  she  had  always  a sense  of 
dependence  and  possible  illumination.  In  those  large,  grave, 
candid  gray  eyes  of  his,  love  seemed  something  that  belonged 
to  the  high  enthusiasm  of  life,  such  as  now  might  be  forever 
shut  out  from  her. 

All  the  same,  her  vanity  winced  at  the  idea  that  Harold 
should  discern  what,  from  his  point  of  view,  would  seem 
like  a degradation  of  her  taste  and  refinement.  She  could  not 
help  being  gratified  by  all  the  manifestations  from  those 
around  her  that  she  was  thought  thoroughly  fitted  for  a high 
position — could  not  help  enjoying,  with  more  or  less  keenness, 
a rehearsal  of  that  demeanor  amongst  luxuries  and  dignities 
which  had  often  been  a part  of  her  day-dreams,  and  the 
rehearsal  included  the  reception  of  more  and  more  emphatic 
attentions  from  Harold,  and  of  an  effusiveness  in  his  manners, 
which,  in  proportion  as  it  would  have  been  offensive  if  it  had 
appeared  earlier,  became  flattering  as  the  effect  of  a growing 
acquaintance  and  daily  contact.  It  comes  in  so  many  forms 
in  this  life  of  ours — the  knowledge  that  there  is  something 
sweetest  and  noblest  of  which  we  despair,  and  the  sense  of 
something  present  that  solicits  us  with  an  immediate  and  easy 
indulgence.  And  there  is  a pernicious  falsity  in  the  pretence 
that  a woman’s  love  lies  above  the  range  of  such  temptations. 

Day  after  day  Esther  had  an  arm  offered  her,  had  very 
beaming  looks  upon  her,  had  opportunities  for  a great  deal 
of  light,  airy  talk,  in  which  she  knew  herself  to  be  charming, 
and  had  the  attractive  interest  of  noticing  Harold’s  practical 
cleverness — the  masculine  ease  with  which  he  governed  every- 
body and  administered  everything  about  him,  without  the 
least  harshness,  and  with  a facile  good-nature  which  yet  was 
not  weak.  In  the  background,  too,  there  was  the  ever-pres- 
ent consideration,  that  if  Harold  Transome  wished  to  marry 
her,  and  she  accepted  him,  the  problem  of  her  lot  would  be 
more  easily  solved  than  in  any  other  way.  It  was  difficult, 
by  any  theory  of  Providence,  or  consideration  of  results,  to 
see  a course  which  she  could  call  duty  : if  something  would 
come  and  urge  itself  strongly  as  pleasure,  and  save  her  from 
the  effort  to  find  a clue  of  principle  amid  the  labyrinthine 


THE  RADICAL. 


357 


confusions  of  right  and  possession,  the  promise  could  not 
but  seem  alluring.  And  yet,  this  life  at  Transome  Court 
was  not  the  life  of  her  day-dreams:  there  was  dullness  already 
in  its  ease,  and  in  the  absence  of  high  demand  ; and  there 
was  a vague  consciousness  that  the  love  of  this  not  unfascina- 
ting man  who  hovered  about  her  gave  an  air  of  moral  mediocrity 
to  all  her  prospects.  She  would  not  have  been  able  perhaps  to 
define  this  impression  ; but  somehow  or  other  by  this  eleva- 
tion of  fortune  it  seemed  that  the  higher  ambition  which  had 
begun  to  spring  in  her  was  forever  nullified.  All  life  seemed 
cheapened  ; as  it  might  seem  to  a young  student  who,  having 
believed  that  to  gain  a certain  degree  he  must  write  a thesis 
in  which  he  would  bring  his  powers  to  bear  with  memorable 
effect,  suddenly  ascertained  that  no  thesis  was  expected,  but 
the  sum  (in  English  money)  of  twenty-seven  pounds  ten 
shillihgs  and  sixpence. 

After  all,  she  was  a woman,  and  could  not  make  her  own 
lot.  As  she  had  once  said  to  Felix,  “A  woman  must  choose 
meaner  things,  because  only  meaner  things  are  offered  to 
her.”  Her  lot  is  made  for  her  by  the  love  she  accepts. 
And  Esther  began  to  think  that  her  lot  was  being  made  for 
her  by  the  love  that  was  surrounding  her  with  the  influence 
of  a garden  on  a summer  morning.  4 

Harold,  on  his  side,  was  conscious  that  the  interest  of  his 
wooing  was  not  standing  still.  He  was  beginning  to  think 
it  a conquest,  in  which  it  would  be  disappointing  to  fail, 
even  if  this  fair  nymph  had  no  claim  to  the  estate.  He 
would  have  liked — and  yet  he  would  not  have  liked — that 
just  a slight  shadow  of  doubt  as  to  his  success  should  be 
removed.  There  was  something  about  Esther  that  he  did 
not  altogether  understand.  She  was  clearly  a woman  that 
could  be  governed  : she  was  too  charming  for  him  to  fear 
that  she  would  ever  be  obstinate  or  interfering.  Yet  there 
was  a lightning  that  shot  out  of  her  now  and  then,  which 
seemed  the  sign  of  a dangerous  judgment ; as  if  she  inwardly 
saw  something  more  admirable  than  Harold  Transome.  Now, 
to  be  perfectly  charming,  a woman  should  not  see  this. 

One  fine  February  day,  when  already  the  golden  and 
purple  crocuses  were  out  on  the  terrace — one  of  those  flat- 
tering days  which  sometimes  precede  the  north-east  winds 
of  March,  and  make  believe  that  the  coming  spring  will  be 
enjoyable — a very  striking  group,  of  whom  Esther  and 
Harold  made  a part,  came  out  at  midday  to  walk  upon  the 
gravel  at  Transome  Court.  They  did  not,  as  usual,  go 


35« 


FELIX  HOLT, 


toward  the  pleasure  grounds  on  the  eastern  side,  because 
Mr.  Lingon,  who  was  one  of  them,  was  going  home,  and  his 
road  lay  through  the  stone  gateway  into*  the  park. 

Uncle  Lingon,  who  disliked  painful  confidences,  and  pre- 
ferred knowing  “no  mischief  of  anybody,”  had  not  objected 
to  be  let  into  the  important  secret  about  Esther,  and  was 
sure  at  once  that  the  whole  affair,  instead  of  being  a mis- 
fortune, was  a piece  of  excellent  luck.  For  himself,  he  did 
not  profess  to  be  a judge  of  women,  but  she  seemed  to  have 
all  the  “ points,”  and  to  carry  herself  as  well  as  Arabella 
did,  which  was  saying  a good  deal.  Honest  Jack  Lingon’s 
first  impressions  quickly  became  traditions,  which  no  sub- 
sequent evidence  could  disturb.  He  was  fond  of  his  sister, 
and  seemed  never  to  be  conscious  of  any  change  for  the 
worse  in  her  since  their  early  time.  He  considered  that  man 
a beast  who  said  anything  unpleasant  about  the  persons  to 
whom  he  was  attached.  It  was  not  that  he  winked  ; his 
wide-open  eyes  saw  nothing  but  what  his  easy  disposition 
inclined  him  to  see.  Harold  was  a good  fellow,  a clever 
chap  ; and  Esther’s  peculiar  fitness  for  him,  under  all  the 
circumstances,  was  extraordinary  ; it  reminded  him  of  some- 
thing in  the  classics,  though  he  couldn’t  think  exactly  what 
— in  fact,  a memory  was  a nasty  uneasy  thing.  Esther  was 
always  glad  when  the  old  rector  came.  With  an  odd  con- 
trariety to  her  former  niceties  she  liked  his  rough  attire  and 
careless  frank  speech  ; they  were  something  not  point  device 
that  seemed  to  connect  the  life  of  Transome  Court  with  that 
rougher,  commoner  world  where  her  home  had  been. 

She  and.  Harold  were  walking  a little  in  advance  of  the 
rest  of  the  party,  who  were  retarded  by  various  causes.  Old 
Mr.  Transome,  wrapped  in  a cloth  cloak  trimmed  with  sable, 
and  with  a soft  warm  cap  also  trimmed  with  fur  on  his  head, 
had  a shuffling  uncertain  walk.  Little  Harry  was  dragging 
a toy  vehicle,  on  the  seat  of  which  he  had  insisted  on  tying 
Moro  with  a piece  of  scarlet  drapery  round  him,  making 
him  look  like  a barbaric  prince  in  a chariot.  Moro,  having 
little  imagination,  objected  to  this,  and  barked  with  feeble 
snappishness  as  the  tyrannous  lad  ran  forward,  then  whirled 
the  chariot  round,  and  ran  back  to  “ Gappa,”.then  came  to 
a dead  stop,  which  overset  the  chariot,  that  he  might  watch 
Uncle  Lingon’s  water-spaniel  run  for  the  hurled  stick  and 
bring  it  in  his  mouth.  Nimrod  kept  close  to  his  old  master’s 
legs,  glancing  with  much  indifference  at  this  youthful  ardor 
about  sticks — he  had  “ gone  through  all  that  ” ; and  Dominic 


THE  RADICAL.  359 

walked  by,  looking  on  blandly,  and  taking  care  both  of 
young  and  old.  Mrs.  Transome  was  not  there. 

Looking  back  and  seeing  that  they  were  a good  deal  in 
advance  of  the  rest,  Esther  and  Harold  paused. 

“ What  do  you  think  about  thinning  the  trees  over  there  ? 99 
said  Harold,  pointing  with  his  stick.  “ I have  a bit  of  a 
notion  that  if  they  were  divided  into  clumps  so  as  to  show 
the  oaks  beyond  it  would  be  a great  improvement.  It  would 
give  an  idea  of  extent  that  is  lost  now.  And  there  might  be 
some  very  pretty  clumps  got  out  of  those  mixed  trees.  What 
do  you  think  ? ” 

“ I should  think  it  would  be  an  improvement.  One  likes 
a ‘beyond’  everywhere.  But  I never  heard  you  express 
yourself  so  dubiously,”  said  Esther,  looking  at  him  rather 
archly  : “you  generally  see  things  so  clearly,  and  are  so  con- 
vinced, that  I shall  begin  to  feel  quite  tottering  if  I find  you  in 
uncertainty.  Pray  don’t  begin  to  be  doubtful;  it  is  infectious.” 
“You  think  me  a great  deal  too  sure — too  confident?” 
said  Harold. 

“Not  at  all.  It  is  an  immense  advantage  to  know  your 
own  will,  when  you  always  mean  to  have  it.” 

“But  suppose  I couldn’t  get  it,  in  spite  of  meaning  ?”  said 
Harold,  with  a beaming  inquiry  in  his  eyes. 

“Oh,  then,”  said  Esther,  turning  her  head  aside,  care- 
lessly, as  if  she  were  considering  the  distant  birch-stems, 
“ you  would  bear  it  quite  easily,  as  you  did  your  not  getting 
into  Parliament.  You  would  know  you  could  get  it  another 
time — or  get  something  else  as  good.” 

“ The  fact  is,”  said  Harold,  moving  on  a little,  as  if  he 
did  not  want  to  be  quite  overtaken  by  the  others,  “ you  con- 
sider me  a fat,  fatuous,  self-satisfied  fellow.” 

“ Oh,  there  are  degrees,”  said  Esther,  with  a silvery  laugh  ; 
“you  have  just  as  much  of  those  qualities  as  is  becoming. 
There  are  different  styles.  You  are  perfect  in  your  own.” 

“ But  you  prefer  another  style,  I suspect.  A more  sub- 
missive, tearful,  devout  worshipper,  who  would  offer  his 
incense  with  more  trembling.” 

“You  are  quite  mistaken,”  said  Esther,  still  lightly.  “I 
find  I am  very  wayward.  When  anything  is  offered  to  me, 
it  seems  that  I prize  it  less,  and  don’t  want  to  have  it.” 
Here  was  a very  baulking  answer,  but  in  spite  of  it  Harold 
could  not  help  believing  that  Esther  was  very  far  from  ob- 
jecting to  the  sort  of  incense  he  had  been  offering  just  then. 
“ I have  often  read  that  that  is  in  human  nature,”  she 


FELIX  HOLT, 


36° 

went  on, “yet  it  takes  me  by  surprise  in  myself.  I suppose,”  she 
added,  smiling,  “ I didn’t  think  of  myself  as  human  nature.” 

“I  don’t  confess  to  the  same  waywardness,”  said  Harold. 
“I  am  very  fond -of  things  that  I can  get.  And  I never 
longed  much  for  anything  out  of  my  reach.  Whatever  I feel 
sure  of  getting  I like  all  the  better.  I think  half  those  prig- 
gish maxims  about  human  nature  in  the  lump  are  no  more 
to  be  relied  on  than  universal  remedies.  There  are  different 
sorts  of  human  nature.  Some  are  given  to  discontent  and 
longing,  others  to  securing  and  enjoying.  And  let  me  tell  you, 
the  discontented  longing  style  is  unpleasant  to  live  with.” 

Harold  nodded  with  a meaning  smile  at  Esther. 

“ Oh,  I assure  you  I have  abjured  all  admiration  for  it,” 
she  said,  smiling  up  at  him  in  return. 

She  was  remembering  the  schooling  Felix  had  given  her 
about  her  Byronic  heroes,  and  was  inwardly  adding  a third 
sort  of  human  nature  to  those  varieties  which  Harold  had 
mentioned.  He  naturally  supposed  that  he  might  take  the 
abjuration  to  be  entirely  in  his  own  favor.  And  his  face 
did  look  very  pleasant  ; she  could  not  help  liking  him, 
although  he  was  certainly  too  particular  about  sauces,  gravies, 
and  wines,  and  had  a way  of  virtually  measuring  the  value 
of  everything  by  the  contribution  it  made  to  his  own  pleasure. 
His  very  good-nature  was  unsympathetic  ; it  never  came 
from  any  thorough  understanding  or  deep  respect  for  what 
was  in  the  mind  of  the  person  he  obliged  or  indulged  ; it 
was  like  his  kindness  to  his  mother — an  arrangement  of  his 
for  the  happiness  of  others,  which,  if  they  were  sensible, 
ought  to  succeed.  And  an  inevitable  comparison  which 
haunted  her,  showed  her  the  same  quality  in  his  political 
views  : the  utmost  enjoyment  of  his  own  advantages  was  the 
solvent  that  blended  pride  in  his  family  and  position,  with 
the  adhesion  to  changes  that  were  to  obliterate  tradition  and 
melt  down  enchased  gold  heirlooms  into  plating  for  the  egg- 
spoons  of  “the  people.”  It  is  terrible — the  keen  bright  eye 
of  a woman  when  it  has  once  been  turned  with  admiration 
on  what  is  severely  true  ; but  then,  the  severely  true  rarely 
comes  within  its  range  of  vision.  Esther  had  had  an  unusual 
illumination  ; Harold  did  not  know  how,  but  he  discerned 
enough  of  the  effect  to  make  him  more  cautious  than  he  had 
ever  been  in  his  life  before.  That  caution  would  have  pre- 
vented him  just  then  from  following  up  the  question  as  to 
the  style  of  person  Esther  would  think  pleasant  to  live  with, 
even  if  Uncle  Lingon  had  not  joined  them,  as  he  did,  to 


THE  RADICAL. 


361 


talk  about  soughing  tiles,  saying  presently  that  he  should 
turn  across  the  grass  and  get  on  to  the  Home  Farm,  to  have 
a look  at  the  improvements  that  Harold  was  making  with 
such  racing  speed. 

“ But  you  know,  lad,”  said  the  rector,  as  they  paused  at  the 
expected  parting,  “ you  can’t  do  everything  in  a hurry.  The 
wheat  must  have  time  to  grow,  even  when  you’ve  reformed 
all  us  old  Tories  off  the  face  of  the  ground.  Dash  it  ! now 
the  election’s  over,  I’m  an  old  Tory  again.  You  see,  Har- 
old, a Radical  won’t  do  for  the  county.  At  another  elec- 
tion, you  must  be  on  the  look-out  for  a borough  where  they 
want  a bit  of  blood.  I should  have  liked  you  uncommonly 
to  stand  for  the  county  ; and  a Radical  of  good  family 
squares  well  enough  with  a new-fashioned  Tory  like  young 
Debarry  ; but  you  see,  these  riots — it’s  been  a nasty  busi- 
ness. I shall  have  my  hair  combed  at  the  sessions  for  a 
year  to  come.  But,  heyday  ! What  dame  is  this,  with  a 
small  boy? — not  one  of  my  parishioners  ? ” 

Harold  and  Esther  turned,  and  saw  an  elderly  woman 
advancing  with  a tiny  red-haired  boy,  scantily  attired  as  to 
his  jacket,  which  merged  into  a small  sparrow-tail  a little 
higher  than  his  waist,  but  muffled  as  to  his  throat  with  a 
blue  woollen  comforter.  Esther  recognized  the  pair  too 
well,  and  felt  very  uncomfortable.  We  are  so  pitiably  in 
subjection  to  all  sorts  of  vanity — even  the  very  vanities  we 
are  practically  renouncing  ! And  in  spite  of  the  almost 
solemn  memories  connected  with  Mrs.  Holt,  Esther’s  first 
shudder  was  raised  by  the  idea  of  what  things  this  woman 
would  say,  and  by  the  mortification  of  having  Felix  in  any 
way  represented  by  his  mother. 

As  Mrs.  Holt  advanced  into  closer  observation,  it  became 
more  evident  that  she  was  attired  with  a view  not  to  charm 
the  eye,  but  rather  to  afflict  it  with  all  that  expression  of  woe 
which  belongs  to  very  rusty  bombazine  and  the  limpest  state 
of  false  hair.  Still,  she  was  not  a woman  to  lose  the  sense 
of  her  own  value,  or  become  abject  in  her  manners  under 
any  circumstances  of  depression  ; and  she  had  a peculiar 
sense  on  the  present  occasion  that  she  was  justly  relying  on 
the  force  of  her  own  character  and  judgment,  in  indepen- 
dence of  anything  that  Mr.  Lyon  or  the  masterful  Felix 
would  have  said,  if  she  had  thought  them  worthy  to  know  of 
her  undertaking.  She  courtesied  once, as  if  to  the  entire  group, 
now  including  even  the  dogs,  who*  showed  various  degrees  of 
curiosity, especially  as  to  what  kind  of  game  the  smaller  anima1 


362 


FELIX  HOLT, 


Job  might  prove  to  be  after  due  investigation  ; and  then  she 
proceeded  at  once  toward  Esther,  who,  in  spite  of  her  annoy- 
ance, took  her  arm  from  Harold’s, said,  “How  do  you  do, Mrs. 
Holt  ?”  very  kindly,  and  stooped  to  pat  little  Job. 

“Yes — you  know  him,  Miss  Lyon,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  in 
that  tone  which  implies  that  the  conversation  is  intended 
for  the  edification  of  the  company  generally  ; “ you  know 
the  orphin  child,  as  Felix  brought  home  for  me  that  am  his 
mother  to  take  care  of.  And  it’s  what  I’ve  done — nobody 
more  so — though  it’s  trouble  is  my  reward.” 

Esther  had  raised  herself  again,  to  stand  in  helpless 
endurance  of  whatever  might  be  coming.  But  by  this  time 
young  Harry,  struck  even  more  than  the  dogs  by  the  appear- 
ance of  Job  Tudge,  had  come  round  dragging  his  chariot, 
and  placed  himself  close  to  the  pale  child,  whom  he  exceeded 
in  height  and  breadth,  as  well  as  in  depth  of  coloring.  He 
looked  into  Job’s  eyes,  peeped  round  at  the  tail  of  his  jacket 
and  pulled  it  a little,  and  then,  taking  off  the  tiny  cloth  cap, 
observed  with  much  interest  the  tight  red  curls  which  had 
been  hidden  underneath  it.  Job  looked  at  his  inspector 
with  the  round  blue  eyes  of  astonishment,  until  Harry, 
purely  by  way  of  experiment,  took  a bon-bon  from  a fantas- 
tic wallet  which  hung  over  his  shoulder,  and  applied  the  test 
to  Job’s  lips.  The  result  was  satisfactory  to  both.  Every 
one  had  been  watching  this  small  comedy,  and  when  Job 
crunched  the  bon-bon  while  Harry  looked  down  at  him 
inquiringly  and  -patted  his  back,  there  was  general  laughter 
except  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Holt,  who  was  shaking  her  head 
slowly,  and  slapping  the  back  of  her  left  hand  with  the  pain- 
ful patience  of  a tragedian  whose  part  is  in  abeyance  to  an 
ill-timed  introduction  of  the  humorous. 

“ I hope  Job’s  cough  has  been  better  lately,”  said  Esther, 
in  mere  uncertainty  as  to  what  it  would  be  desirable  to  say 
or  do. 

“ I dare  say  you  hope  so,  Miss  Lyon,”  said  Mrs.  Holt, 
looking  at  the  distant  landscape.  “ I’ve  no  reason  to  dis- 
believe but  what  you  wish  well  to  the  child,  and  to  Felix, 
and  to  me.  I’m  sure  nobody  has  any  occasion  to  wish  me 
otherways.  My  character  will  bear  enquiry,  and  what  you, 
as  are  young,  don’t  know,  others  can  tell  you.  That  was 
what  I said  to  myself  when  I made  up  my  mind  to  come 
here  and  see  you,  and  ask  you  to  get  me  the  freedom  to 
speak  to  Mr.  Transome.  I said,  whatever  Miss  Lyon  may 
be  now,  in  the  way  of  being  lifted  up  among  great  people, 


THE  RADICAL. 


363 

she’s  our  minister’s  daughter,  and  was  not  above  coming  to 
my  house  and  walking  with  my  son  Felix — though  I’ll  not 
deny  he  made  that  figure  on  the  Lord’s  Day,  that’ll  perhaps  go 
against  him  with  the  judge,  if  anybody  thinks  well  to  tell  him.” 

Here  Mrs.  Holt  paused  a moment,  as  with  a mind  arrested 
by  the  painful  image  it  had  called  up. 

Esther’s  face  was  glowing,  when  Harold  glanced  at  her ; 
and  seeing  this,  he  was  considerate  enough  to  address  Mrs. 
Holt  instead  of  her. 

“ You  are  then  the  mother  of  the  unfortunate  young  man 
who  is  in  prison  ? ” 

“ Indeed  I am,  sir,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  feeling  that  she  was 
now  in  deep  water.  “ It’s  not  likely  I should  claim  him  if  he 
wasn’t  my  own;  though  it’s  not  by  my  will,  nor  my  advice,  sir, 
that  he  ever  walked  ; for  I gave  him  none  but  good.  But  if 
everybody’s  son  was  guided  by  their  mothers,  the  world  ’ud 
be  different;  my  son  is  not  worse  than  many  another  woman’s 
son,  and  that  in  Treby,  whatever  they  may  say  as  haven’t 
got  their  sons  in  prison.  And  as  to  his  giving  up  the  doc- 
toring, and  then  stopping  his  father’s  medicines,  I know  it’s 
bad — that  I know — but  it’s  me  has  had  to  suffer,  and  it’s  me 
a king  and  Parliament  ’ud  consider,  if  they  meant  to  do  the 
right  thing,  and  had  anybody  to  make  it  known  to  ’em. 
And  as  for  the  rioting  and  killing  the  constable — my  son 
said  most  plain  to  me  he  never  meant  it,  and  there  was  his 
bit  of  potato-pie  for  dinner  getting  dry  by  the  fire,  the  whole 
blessed  time  as  I sat  and  never  knew  what  was  coming  on 
me.  And  it’s  my  opinion  as  if  great  people  make  elections 
to  get  themselves  into  Parliament,  and  there’s  riot  and  mur- 
der to  do  it,  they  ought  to  see  as  the  widow  and  the  widow’s 
son  doesn’t  suffer  for  it.  I well  know  my  duty:  and  I read 
my  Bible  ; and  I know  in  Jude  where  it’s  been  stained  with 
the  dried  tulip-leaves  this  many  a year,  as  you’re  told  not  to 
rail  at  your  betters  if  they  was  the  devil  himself;  nor  will  I; 
but  this  I do  say,  if  it’s  three  Mr.  Transomes  instead  of  one 
as  is  listening  to  me,  as  there’s  them  ought  to  go  to  the  king 
and  get  him  to  let  off  my  son  Felix.” 

This  speech,  in  its  chief  points,  had  been  deliberately  pre- 
pared. Mrs.  Holt  had  set  her  face  like  a flint,  to  make  the 
gentry  know  their  duty  as  she  knew  hers:  her  defiant  defen- 
sive tone  was  due  to  the  consciousness,  not  only  that  she 
was  braving  a powerful  audience,  but  that  she  was  daring  to 
stand  on  the  strong  basis  of  her  own  judgment  in  opposition 
to  her  son’s.  Her  proposals  had  been  waived  off  by  Mr. 


364 


FELIX  HOLT, 


Lyon  and  Felix;  but  she  had  long  had  the  feminine  convic- 
tion that  if  she  could  “ get  to  speak  ” in  the  right  quarter, 
things  might  be  different.  The  daring  bit  of  impromptu 
about  the  three  Mr.  Transomes  was  immediately  suggested 
by  a movement  of  old  Mr.  Transome  to  the  foreground  in  a 
line  with  Mr.  Lingon  and  Harold  ; his  furred  and  unusual 
costume  appearing  to  indicate  a mysterious  dignity  which 
she  must  hasten  to  include  in  her  appeal. 

And  there  were  reasons  that  none  could  have  foreseen, 
which  made  Mrs.  Holt’s  remonstrance  immediately  effective. 
While  old  Mr.  Transome  stared,  very  much  like  a waxen 
image  in  which  the  expression  is  a failure,  and  the  rector, 
accustomed  to  female  parishioners  and  complainants,  looked 
on  with  a smile  in  his  eyes,  Harold  said  at  once,  with  cor- 
dial kindness — 

“ I think  you  are  quite  right,  Mrs.  Holt.  And  for  my 
part,  I am  determined  to  do  my  best  for  your  son,  both  in 
the  witness-box  and  elsewhere.  Take  comfort  ; if  it  is 
necessary,  the  king  shall  be  appealed  to.  And  rely  upon  it, 
I shall  bear  you  in  mind  as  Felix  Holt’s  mother.” 

Rapid  thoughts  had  convinced  Harold  that  in  this  way  he 
was  best  commending  himself  to  Esther. 

“ Well,  sir,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  who  was  not  going  to  pour 
forth  disproportionate  thanks,  “I  am  glad  to  hear  you  speak 
so  becoming  ; and  if  you  had  been  the  king  himself,  I should 
have  made  free  to  tell  you  my  opinion.  For  the  Bible  says 
the  king’s  favor  is  toward  a wise  servant;  and  it’s  reasonable 
to  think  he’d  make  all  the  more  account  of  them  as  have 
never  been  in  service,  or  took  wage,  which  I never  did,  and 
never  thought  of  my  son  doing;  and  his  father  left  money, 
meaning  otherways,  so  as  he  might  have  been  a doctor  on 
horseback  at  this  very  minute,  instead  of  being  in  prison.” 

“ What ! was  he  regularly  apprenticed  to  a doctor  ? ” said 
Mr.  Lingon,  who  had  not  understood  this  before. 

“ Sir,  he  was,  and  most  clever,  like  his  father  before  him, 
only  he  turned  contrary.  But  as  for  harming  anybody,  Fe- 
lix never  meant  to  harm  anybody  but  himself  and  his  mother, 
which  he  certainly  did  in  respect  of  his  clothes,  and  taking 
to  be  a low  workingman,  and  stopping  my  living  respecta- 
ble, more  particular  by  the  pills,  which  had  a sale,  as  you 
may  be  sure  they  suited  people’s  insides.  And  what  folks 
can  never  have  boxes  enough  of  to  swallow,  I should 
think  you  have  a right  to  sell.  And  there’s  many  and  many 
a text  for  it,  as  I’ve  opened  on  without  ever  thinking  ; for  if 


THE  RADICAL.  365 

it’s  true,  ‘Ask,  and  you  shall  have,’  I should  think  it’s  truer 
when  you’re  willing  to  pay  for  what  you  have.” 

This  was  a little  too  much  for  Mr.  Lingon’s  gravity  ; he 
exploded,  and  Harold  could  not  help  following  him.  Mrs. 
Holt  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  distance,  and  slapped  the  back  of 
her  left  hand  again  ; it  might  be  that  this  kind  of  mirth  was 
the  peculiar  effect  produced  by  forcible  truth  on  high  and 
worldly  people  who  were  neither  in  the  Independent  nor 
the  General  Baptist  connection. 

“ I’m  sure  you  must  be  tired  with  your  long  walk,  and  lit- 
tle Job  too,”  said  Esther,  by  way  of  breaking  this  awkward 
scene.  “Aren’t  you,  Job?”  she  added,  stooping  to  caress 
the  child,  who  was  timidly  shrinking  from  Harry’s  invitation 
to  him  to  pull  the  little  chariot — Harry’s  view  being  that 
Job  would  make  a good  horse  for  him  to  beat,  and  would 
run  faster  than  Gappa. 

“ It’s  well  you  can  feel  for  the  orphin  child,  Miss  Lyon,” 
said  Mrs.  Holt,  choosing  an  indirect  answer  rather  than  to 
humble  herself  by  confessing  fatigue  before  gentlemen  who 
seemed  to  be  taking  her  too  lightly.  “ I didn’t  believe  but 
what  you’d  behave  pretty,  as  you  always  did  to  me,  though, 
everybody  said  you  held  yourself  high.  But  I’m  sure  you 
never  did  to  Felix,  for  you  let  him  sit  by  you  at  the  Free 
School  before  all  the  town,  and  him  with  never  a bit  of  stock 
round  his  neck.  And  it  shows  you  saw  that  in  him  worth 
taking  notice  of  ; — and  it  is  but  right,  if  you  know  my 
words  are  true, as  you  should  speak  for  him  to  the  gentlemen.” 
“ I assure  you,  Mrs.  Holt,”  said  Harold,  coming  to  the  res- 
cue— “ I assure  you  that  enough  has  been  said  to  make  me  use 
my  best  efforts  for  your  son.  And  now, pray, go  on  to  the  house 
with  the  little  boy  and  take  some  rest.  Dominic,  show  Mrs. 
Holt  the  way,  and  ask  Mrs.  Hickes  to  make  her  comfortable, 
and  see  that  somebody  takes  her  back  to  Treby  in  the  buggy.” 
“ I will  go  back  with  Mrs.  Holt,”  said  Esther,  making  an 
effort  against  herself. 

“ No,  pray,”  said  Harold,  with  that  kind  of  entreaty  which 
is  really  a decision.  “ Let  Mrs.  Holt  have  time  to  rest. 
We  shall  have  returned,  and  you  can  see  her  before  she 
goes.  We  will  say  good-by  for  the  present,  Mrs.  Holt.” 

The  poor  woman  was  not  sorry  to  have  the  prospect  of 
rest  and  food,  especially  for  “the  orphin  child,”  of  whom 
she  was  tenderly  careful.  Like  many  women  who  appear  to 
others  to  have  a masculine  decisiveness  of  tone,  and  to  them- 
selves to  have  a masculine  force  of  mind,  and  who  come  into 


366 


FELIX  HOLT, 


severe  collision  with  sons  arrived  at  the  masterful  stage,  she 
had  the  maternal  cord  vibrating  strongly  within  her  toward 
all  tiny  children.  And  when  she  saw  Dominic  pick  up  Job 
and. hoist  him  on  his  arm  for  a little  while,  by  way  of  making 
acquaintance,  she  regarded  him  with  an  approval  which  she 
had  not  thought  it  possible  to  extend  to  a foreigner.  Since 
Dominic  was  going,  Harry  and  old  Mr.  Transome  chose  to 
follow.  Uncle  Lingon  shook  hands  and  turned  off  across 
the  grass,  and  thus  Esther  was  left  alone  with  Harold. 

But  there  was  a new  consciousness  between  them.  Har- 
old’s quick  perception  was  least  likely  to  be  slow  in  seizing 
indications  of  anything  that  might  affect  his  position  with 
regard  to  Esther.  Some  time  before,  his  jealousy  had  been 
awakened  to  the  possibility  that  before  she  had  known  him 
she  had  been  deeply  interested  in  some  one  else.  Jealousy 
of  all  sorts — whether  fpr  our  fortune  or  our  love — is  ready  at 
combinations,  and  likely  even  to  outstrip  the  fact.  And 
Esther’s  renewed  confusion,  united  with  her  silence  about 
Felix,  which  now  first  seemed  noteworthy,  and  with  Mrs. 
Holt’s  graphic  details  as  to  her  walking  with  him  and  letting 
him  sit  by  her  before  all  the  town  were  grounds  not  merely 
for  a suspicion,  but  for  a conclusion  in  Harold’s  mind.  The 
effect  of  this  which  he  at  once  regarded  as  a discovery,  was 
rather  different  from  what  Esther  had  anticipated.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  Felix  was  the  least  formidable  person  that  he 
could  have  found  as  an  object  of  interest  antecedent  to  him- 
self. A young  workman  who  had  got  himself  thrown  into 
prison,  whatever  recommendations  he  might  have  had  for  a girl 
at  a romantic  age  in  the  dreariness  of  Dissenting  society  at 
Treby,  could  hardly  be  considered  by  Harold  in  the  light  of  a 
rival.  Esther  was  too  clever  and  tasteful  awoman  to  make  a bal- 
lad heroine  of  herself,  by  bestowing  her  beauty  and  her  lands 
on  this  lowly  lover.  Besides,  Harold  cherished  tfoe  belief  that, 
at  the  present  time,  Esther  was  more  wisely  disposed  to  be- 
stow these  things  on  another  lover  in  every  way  eligible. 
But  in  two  directions  this  discovery  had  a determining  effect 
on  him,  his  curiosity  was  stirred  to  know  exactly  what  the 
relation  with  Felix  had  been,  and  he  was  solicitous  that  his 
behavior  with  regard  to  this  young  man  should  be  such  as 
to  enhance  his  own  merit  in  Esther’s  eyes.  At  the  same 
time  he  was  not  inclined  to  any  euphemisms  that  would 
seem  to  bring  Feli£  into  the  lists  with  himself. 

■ Naturally  when  they  were  left  alone,  it  was  Harold  who 
spoke  first.  “I  should  think  there’s  a good  deal  of  worth 


THE  RADICAL. 


367 

in  this  young  fellow — this  Holt,  notwithstanding  the  mistakes 
he  has  made.  A little  queer  and  conceited,  perhaps  ; but 
that  is  usually  the  case  with  men  of  his  class  when  they  are 
at  all  superior  to  their  fellows.” 

“ Felix  Holt  is  a highly  cultivated  man  ; he  is  not  at  all 
conceited,”  said  Esther.  The  different  kinds  of  pride  within 
her  were  coalescing  now.  She  was  aware  that  there  had  been 
a betrayal. 

“ Ah  ? ” said  Harold,  not  quite  liking  the  tone  of  this  answer. 
“ This  eccentricity  is  a sort  of  fanaticism,  then? — this  giving 
up  being  a doctor  on  horseback,  as  the'old  woman  calls  it, 
and  taking  to — let  me  see — watchmaking,  isn’t  it  ? ” 

“If  it  is  eccentricity  to  be  very  much  better  than  other 
men,  he  is  certainly  eccentric  ; and  fanatical  too,  if  it  is 
fanatical  to  renounce  all  small  selfish  motives  for  the  sake 
of  a great  and  unselfish  one.  I never  knew  what  nobleness 
of  character  really  was  before  I knew  Felix  Holt.” 

It  seemed  to  Esther  as  if  in  the  excitement  of  this  moment, 
her  own  words  were  bringing  her  a clearer  revelation. 

“ God  bless  me  ! ” said  Harold,  in  a tone  of  surprised  yet 
thorough  belief,  and  looking  in  Esther’s  face.  “ I wish  you 
had  talked  to  me  about  this  before.” 

Esther  at  that  moment  looked  perfectly  beautiful,  with 
an  expression  which  Harold  had  never  hitherto  seen.  All  the 
confusion  which  had  depended  on  personal  feeling  had  given 
way  before  the  sense  that  she  had  to  speak  the  truth  about 
the  man  whom  she  felt  to  be  admirable. 

“ I think  I didn’t  see  the  meaning  of  anything  fine — I 
didn’t  even  see  the  value  of  my  father’s  character,  until  I 
had  been  taught  a little  by  hearing  what  Felix  Holt  said, 
and  seeing  that  his  life  was  like  his  words.” 

Harold  looked  and  listened,  and  felt  his  slight  jealousy 
allayed  rather  than  heightened.  “ This  is  not  like  love,”  he 
said  to  himself,  with  some  satisfaction.  With  all  due  regard 
to  Harold  Transome,  he  was  one  of  those  men  who  are  liable 
to  make  the  greater  mistakes  about  a particular  woman’s 
feelings,  because  they  pique  themselves  on  a power  of  inter- 
pretation derived  from  much  experience.  Experience  is 
enlightening,  but  with  a difference.  Experiments  on  live 
animals  may  go  on  for  a long  period,  and  yet  the  fauna  on 
which  they  are  made  may  be  limited.  There  may  be  a passion 
in  the  mind  of  a woman  which  precipitates  her,  not  along  the 
path  of  easy  beguilement,  but  into  a great  leap  away  from  it. 
Harold’s  experience  had  not  taught  him  this  ; and  Esther’s 


368  FELIX  HOLT, 

enthusiasm  about  Felix  Holt  did  not  seem  to  him  to  be 
dangerous. 

“ He’s  quite  an  apostolic  sort  of  fellow,  then,”  was  the  self- 
quieting  answer  he  gave  to  her  last  words.  “ He  didn’t  look 
like  that  ; but  I had  only  a short  interview  with  him,  and  I 
was  given  to  understand  that  he  refused  to  see  me  in  prison. 
I believe  he’s  not  very  well  inclined  toward  me.  But  you 
saw  a great  deal  of  him,  I suppose,  and  your  testimony  to 
any  one  is  enough  for  me,”  said  Harold,  lowering  his  voice 
rather  tenderly.  “ Now  I know  what  your  opinion  is,  I 
shall  spare  no  effort  on  behalf  of  such  a young  man.  In  fact, 
I had  come  to  the  same  resolution  before,  but  your  wish 
would  make  difficult  things  easy.” 

After  that  energetic  speech  of  Esther’s,  as  often  happens, 
the  tears  had  just  suffused  her  eyes.  It  was  nothing  more 
than  might  have  been  expected  in  a tender-hearted  woman, 
considering  Felix  Holt’s  circumstances,  and  the  tears  only 
made  more  lovely  the  look  with  which  she  met  ^Harold’s 
when  he  spoke  so  kindly.  She  felt  pleased  with  him  ; she 
was  open  to  the  fallacious  delight  of  being  assured  that  she 
had  power  over  him  to  make  him  do  what  she  liked,  and 
quite  forgot  the  many  impressions  which  had  convinced  her 
that  Harold  had  a padded  yoke  ready  for  the  neck  of  every 
man,  woman,  and  child  that  depended  on  him. 

After  a short  silence,  they  were  getting  near  the  stone 
gateway,  and  Harold  said,  with  an  air  of  intimate  consulta- 
tion— 

“What  could  we  do  for  this  young  man,  supposing  he 
were  let  off  ? I shall  send  a letter  with  fifty  pounds  to  the 
old  woman  to-morrow.  I ought  to  have  done  it  before,  but 
it  really  slipped  my  memory,  amongst  the  many  things  that 
have  occupied  me  lately.  But  this  young  man — what  do 
you  think  would  be  the  best  thing  we  could  do  for  him,  if 
he  gets  at  large  again.  He  should  be  put  in  a position 
where  his  qualities  could  be  more  telling.” 

Esther  was  recovering  her  liveliness  a little,  and  was  dis- 
posed to  encourage  it  for  the  sake  of  veiling  other  feelings, 
about  which  she  felt  renewed  reticence,  now  that  the  over- 
powering influence  of  her  enthusiasm  was  past.  She  was 
rather  wickedly  amused  and  scornful  at  Harold’s  miscon- 
ceptions and  ill-placed  intentions  of  patronage. 

“ You  are  hopelessly  in  the  dark,”  she  said,  with  a light 
laugh  and  toss  of  her  head.  “What  would  you  offer  Felix 
Holt?  a place  in  the  Excise  ? You  might  as  well  think  of 


THE  RADICAL.  369 

offering  it  to  John  the  Baptist.  Felix  has  chosen  his  lot. 
He  means  always  to  be  a poor  man.” 

“ Means  ? Yes,”  said  Harold,  slightly  piqued,  “ but 
what  a man  means  usually  depends  on  what  happens.  I 
mean  to  be  a commoner  ; but  a peerage  might  present  itself 
under  acceptable  circumstances.” 

“ Oh,  there  is  no  sum  in  proportion  to  be  done  there,” 
said  Esther,  again  gaily.  “ As  you  are  to  a peerage  so  is 
not  Felix  Holt  to  any  offer  of  advantage  that  you  could 
imagine  for  him.” 

“ You  must  think  him  fit  for  any  position — the  first  in  the 
county.” 

“No,  I don’t,”  said  Esther,  shaking  her  head  mischiev- 
ously. “I  think  him  too  high  for  it.” 

“ I see  you  can  be  ardent  in  your  admiration.” 

“ Yes,  it  is  my  champagne  ; you  know  I don’t  like  the 
other  kind.” 

“ That  would  be  satisfactory  if  one  were  sure  of  getting 
your  admiration,”  said  Harold,  leading  her  up  to  the  ter- 
race, and  amongst  the  crocuses,  from  whence  they  had  a 
fine  view  of  the  park  and  river.  They  stood  still  near  the 
east  parapet,  and  saw  the  dash  of  light  on  the  water,  and  the 
pencilled  shadows  of  the  trees  on  the  grassy  lawn. 

“Would  it  do  as  well  to  admire  you,  instead  of  being 
worthy  to  be  admired  ? ” said  Harold,  turning  his  eyes  from 
that  landscape  to  Esther’s  face. 

“ It  would  be  a thing  to  be  put  up  with,”  said  Esther, 
smiling  at  him  rather  roguishly.  “ But  you  are  not  in  that 
state  of  self-despair.” 

“ Well,  I am  conscious  of  not  having  those  severe  virtues 
that  you  have  been  praising.” 

“ That  is  true.  You  are  quite  in  another  genre." 

“ A woman  would  not  find  me  a tragic  hero.” 

“ Oh,  no  ! She  must  dress  for  general  comedy — such  as 
your  mother  once  described  to  me — where  the  most  thrilling 
event  is  the  drawing  of  a handsome  check.” 

“You  are  a naughty  fairy,”  said  Harold,  daring  to  press 
Esther’s  hand  a little  more  closely  to  him,  and  drawing  her 
down  the  eastern  steps  into  the  pleasure-ground,  as  if  he 
were  unwilling  to  give  up  the  conversation.  “ Confess  that 
you  are  disgusted  with  my  want  of  romance.” 

“ I shall  not  confess  to  being  disgusted.  I shall  ask  you 
to  confess  that  you  are  not  a romantic  figure.” 

“ I am  a little  too  stout.” 


3?o 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ For  romance — yes.  At  least  you  must  find  security  for 
not  getting  stouter.” 

“ And  I don’t  look  languishing  enough  ? ” 

“ Oh,  yes — rather  too  much  so — at  a fine  cigar.” 

“ And  I am  not  in  danger  of  committing  suicide  ? ” 

“ No  ; you  are  a widower.” 

Harold  did  not  reply  immediately  to  this  last  thrust  of 
Esther’s.  She  had  uttered  it  with  innocent  thoughtlessness 
from  the  playful  suggestions  of  the  moment;  but  it  was  a 
fact  that  Harold’s  previous  married  life  had  entered  strongly 
in  her  impressions  about  him.  The  presence  of  Harry  made 
it  inevitable.  Harold  took  this  allusion  of  Esther’s  as  an 
indication  that  his  quality  of  widower  was  a point  that  made 
against  him  ; and  after  a brief  silence  he  said,  in  an  altered, 
more  serious  tone — 

“ You  don’t  suppose,  I hope,  that  any  other  woman  has 
ever  held  the  place  that  you  could  hold  in  my  life  ? ” 

Esther  began  to  tremble  a little,  as  she  always  did  when 
the  love-talk  between  them  seemed  getting  serious.  She 
only  gave  the  rather  stumbling  answer,  “ How  so  ? ” 

“ Harry’s  mother  had  been  a slave — was  bought,  in  fact.” 
It  was  impossible  for  Harold  to  preconceive  the  effect 
this  had  on  Esther.  His  natural  disqualification  for  judging 
of  a girl’s  feelings  was  heightened  by  the  blinding  effect  of 
an  exclusive  object — which  was  to  assure  her  that  her  own 
place  was  peculiar  and  supreme.  Hitherto  Esther’s  ac- 
quaintance with  oriental  love  was  derived  chiefly  from 
Byronic  poems,  and  this  had  not  sufficed  to  adjust  her  mind 
to  a new  story,  where  the  Giaour  concerned  was  giving  her 
his  arm.  She  was  unable  to  speak  ; and  Harold  went  on — 
“ Though  I am  close  on  thirty-five,  I never  met  with  a 
woman  at  all  like  you  before.  There  are  new  eras  in  one’s 
life  that  are  equivalent  to  youth — are  something  better  than 
youth.  I was  never  an  aspirant  till  I knew  you.” 

Esther  was  still  silent. 

“ Not  that  I dare  to  call  myself  that.  I am  not  so  confi- 
dent a personage  as  you  imagine.  I am  necessarily  in  a pain- 
ful position  for  a man  who  has  any  feeling.” 

Here  at  last  Harold  had  stirred  the  right  fibre.  Esther’s 
generosity  seized  at  once  the  whole  meaning  implied  in  that 
last  sentence.  She  had  a fine  sensibility  to  the  line  at  which 
flirtation  must  cease  ; and  she  was  now  pale  and  shaken  with 
^Ungs  she  had  not  yet  defined  for  herself. 

"Do  not  let  us  speak  of  difficult  things  any  more  now,” 


THE  RADICAL. 


371 


she  said,  with  gentle  seriousness.  “ I am  come  into  a new 
world  of  late,  and  have  to  learn  life  all  over  again.  Let  us  go 
in.  I must  see  poor  Mrs.  Holt  again,  and  my  little  friend  Job.” 

She  paused  at  the  glass  door  that  opened  on  the  terrace, 
and  entered  there,  while  Harold  went  round  to  the  stables. 

When  Esther  had  been  up-stairs  and  descended  again 
into  the  large  entrance-hall,  she  found  its  stony  capacious- 
ness made  lively  by  human  figures  extremely  unlike  the 
statues.  Since  Harry  insisted  on  playing  with  Job  again, 
Mrs.  Holt  and  her  orphan,  after  dining,  had  just  been  brought 
to  this  delightful  scene  for  a game  at  hide-and-seek,  and  for 
exhibiting  the  climbing  powers  of  the  two  pet  squirrels. 
Mrs.  Holt  sat  on  a stool,  in  singular  relief  against  the  pedes- 
tal of  the  Apollo,  while  Dominic  and  Denner  (otherwise 
Mrs.  Hickes)  bore  her  company ; Harry,  in  his  bright  red 
and  purple,  flitted  about  like  a great  tropic  bird  after  the 
sparrow-tailed  Job,  who  hid  himself  with  much  intelligence 
behind  the  scagliola  pillars  and  the  pedestals  ; while  one  of 
the  squirrels  perched  itself  on  the  head  of  the  tallest  statue,  and 
the  other  was  already  peeping  down  from  among  the  heavy 
stuccoed  angels  on  the  ceiling,  near  the  summit  of  a pillar. 

Mrs.  Holt  held  on  her  lap  a basket  filled  with  good  things 
for  Job,  and  seemed  much  soothed  by  pleasant  company  and 
excellent  treatment.  As  Esther,  descending  softly  and  un- 
observed, leaned  over  the  stone  banisters  and  looked  at  the 
scene  for  a minute  or  two,  she  saw  that  Mrs.  Holt’s  atten- 
tion, having  been  directed  to  the  squirrel  which  had  scam- 
pered on  to  the  head  of  the  Silenus  carrying  the  infant 
Bacchus,  had  been  drawn  downward  to  the  tiny  babe  looked 
at  with  so  much  affection  by  the  rather  ugly  and  hairy  gen- 
tleman, of  whom  she  nevertheless  spoke  with  reserve  as  of 
one  who  possibly  belonged  to  the  Transome  family. 

“ It’s  most  pretty  to  see  its  little  limbs,  and  the  gentleman 
holding  it.  I should  think  he  was  amiable  by  his  look ; but 
it  was  odd  he  should  have  his  likeness  took  without  any 
clothes.  Was  he  Transome  by  name?”  (Mrs.  Holt  sus- 
pected that  there  might  be  a mild  madness  in  the  family.) 

Denner,  peering  and  smiling  quietly,  was  about  to  reply, 
when  she  was  prevented  by  the  appearance  of  old  Mr.  Tran- 
some, who  since  his  walk  had  been  having  “ forty  winks  ” 
on  the  sofa  in  the  library,  and  now  came  out  to  look  for 
Harry.  He  had  doffed  his  fur  cap  and  cloak,  but  in  lying 
down  to  sleep  he  had  thrown  over  his  shoulders  a soft 
Oriental  scarf  which  Harold  had  given  him,  and  this  still 


372 


FELIX  HOLT, 


hung  over  his  scanty  white  hair  and  down  to  his  knees,  held 
fast  by  his  wooden-looking  arms  and  laxly-clasped  hands, 
which  fell  in  front  of  him. 

This  singular  appearance  of  an  undoubted^  Transome 
fitted  exactly  into  Mrs.  Holt’s  thought  at  the  moment.  It 
lay  in  the  probabilities  of  things  that  gentry’s  intellects 
should  be  peculiar : since  they  had  not  to  get  their  own  liv- 
ing, the  good  Lord  might  have  economized  in  their  case 
that  common-sense  which  others  were  so  much  more  in  need 
of ; and  in  the  shuffling  figure  before  her  she  saw  a descen- 
dant of  the  gentleman  who  had  chosen  to  be  represented 
without  his  clothes — all  the  more  eccentric  where  there  were 
the  means  of  buying  the  best.  But  these  oddities  “ said 
nothing  ” in  great  folks,  who  were  powerful  in  high  quarters 
all  the  same.  And  Mrs.  Holt  rose  and  courtesied  with  a proud 
respect,  precisely  as  she  would  have  done  if  Mr.  Transome 
had  looked  as  wise  as  Lord  Burleigh. 

“ I hope  I’m  in  no  way  taking  a liberty,  sir,”  she  began, 
while  the  old  gentleman  looked  at  her  with  bland  feebleness  ; 

“ I’m  not  that  lvoman  to  sit  anywhere  out  of  my  own  home 
without  inviting  and  pressing  to.  But  I was  brought  here 
to  wait,  because  the  little  gentleman  wanted  to  play  with 
the  orphin  child.” 

” Very  glad,  my  good  woman — sit  down — sit  down,”  said 
Mr.  Transome,  nodding  and  smiling  between  his  clauses. 

“ Nice  little  boy.  Your  grandchild  ? ” 

“ Indeed,  sir,  no,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  continuing  to  stand.  ■ 
Quite  apart  from  any  awe  of  Mr.  Transome — sitting  down, 
she  felt,  would  be  a too  great  familiarity  with  her  own 
pathetic  importance  on  this  extra  and  unlooked-for  occasion. 

“ It’s  not  me  has  any  grandchild,  nor  ever  shall  have,  though 
most  fit.  But  with  my  only  son  saying  he’ll  never  be 
married,  and  in  prison  besides,  and  some  saying  he’ll  be 
transported,  you  may  see  yourself — though  a gentleman — as 
there  isn’t  much  chance  of  my  having  grandchildren  of  my 
own.  And  this  is  old  Master  Tudge’s  grandchild,  as  my 
own  Felix  took  to  for  pity.because  he  was  sickly  and  clemm’d, 
and  I was  noways  against  it,  being  of  a tender  heart.  For 
I’m  a widow  myself,  and  my  son  Felix,  though  big,  is  father- 
less, and  I know  my  duty  in  consequence.  And  it’s  to  be 
wished,  sir,  as  others  should  know  it  as  are  more  in  power 
and  live  in  great  houses,  and  can  ride  in  a carriage  where 
they  will.  And  if  you’re  the  gentleman  as  is  the  head  of 
everything — and  it’s  not  to  be  thought  you’d  give  up  to  your 


THE  RADICAL. 


373 


son  as  a poor  widow’s  been  forced  to  do — it  behooves  you 
to  take  the  part  of  them  as  are  deserving  ;,  for  the  Bible  says 
gray  hairs  should  speak.” 

“ Yes,  yes — poor  woman — what  shall  I say  ? ” said  old  Mr. 
Transome,  feeling  himself  scolded,  and,  as  usual,  desirous  of 
mollifying  displeasure. 

“ Sir,  I can  tell  you  what  to  say  fast  enough  ; for  it’s 
what  I should  say  myself  if  I could  get  to  speak  to  the 
king.  For  I’ve  asked  them  that  know,  and  they  say  it’s  the 
truth,  both  out  of  the  Bible,  and  in,  as  the  king  can  pardon 
anything  and  anybody.  And  judging  by  his  countenance 
on  the  new  signs,  and  the  talk  there  was  a while  ago  about 
his  being  the  people’s  friend,  as  the  minister  once  said  it 
from  the  very  pulpit — if  there’s  any  meaning  in  words,  he’ll  do 
the  right  thing  by  me  and  my  son,  if  he’s  asked  proper.” 

“Yes — a very  good  man — he’ll  do  anything  right,”  said 
Mr.  Transome,  whose  own  ideas  about  the  king  just  then 
were  somewhat  misty,  consisting  chiefly  in  broken  reminis- 
cences of  George  III.  “ I’ll  ask  him  anything  you  like,” 
he  added,  with  a pressing  desire  to  satisfy  Mrs.  Holt,  who 
alarmed  him  slightly. 

“ Then,  sir,  if  you’ll  go  in  your  carriage  and  say,  this 
young  man,  Felix  Holt  by  name,  as  his  father  was  known 
the  country  round,  and  his  mother  most  respectable — he 
never  meant  harm  to  anybody,  and  so  far  from  bloody 
murder  and  fighting,  would  part  with  his  victual  to  them  that 
needed  it  more — and  if  you’d  get  other  gentlemen  to  say  the 
same,  and  if  they’re  not  satisfied  to  enquire — I’ll  not  believe 
but  what  the  king  ’ud  let  my  son  out  of  prison.  Or  if  it’s 
true  he  must  stand  his  trial,  the  king  ’ud  take  care  no  mis- 
chief happened  to  him.  I’ve  got  my  senses,  and  I’ll  never 
believe  as  in  a country  where  there’s  a God  above  and  a king 
below,  the  right  thing  can’t  be  done  if  great  people  was  will- 
ing to  do  it.” 

Mrs.  Holt,  like  all  orators,  had  waxed  louder  and  more 
energetic,  ceasing  to  propel  her  arguments,  and  being  pro- 
pelled by  them.  Poor  old  Mr.  Transome,  getting  more  and 
more  frightened  at  this  severe-spoken  woman,  who  had  the 
horrible  possibility  to  his  mind  of  being  a novelty  that  was 
to  become  permanent,  seemed  to  be  fascinated  by  fear,  and 
stood  helplessly  forgetful  that  if  he  liked,  he  might  turn 
round  and  walk  away. 

Little  Harry,  alive  to  anything  that  had  relation  to 
“ Gappa,”  had  paused  in  his  game,  and  discerning  what  h<s 


374 


FELIX  HOLT, 


thought  a hostile  aspect  in  this  naughty  black  old  woman, 
rushed  toward  her  and  proceeded  first  to  beat  her  with  his 
mimic  jockey’s  whip,  and  then,  suspecting  that  her  bomba- 
zine was  not  sensitive,  to  set  his  teeth  in  her  arm.  While 
Dominic  rebuked  him  and  pulled  him  off,  Nimrod  began  to 
bark  anxiously,  and  the  scene  was  become  alarming  even  to 
the  squirrels,  which  scrambled  as  far  off  as  possible. 

Esther,  who  had  been  waiting  for  an  opportunity  of  inter- 
vention, now  came  up  to  Mrs.  Holt  to  speak  some  soothing 
words  ; and  old  Mr.  Transome,  seeing  a sufficient  screen 
between  himself  and  his  formidable  suppliant,  at  last  gathered 
courage  to  turn  round  and  shuffle  away  with  unusual  swift- 
ness into  the  library. 

“ Dear  Mrs.  Holt,”  said  Esther,  “ do  rest  comforted.  I 
assure  you,  you  have  done  the  utmost  that  can  be  done  by 
your  words.  Your  visit  has  not  been  thrown  away.  See 
how  the  children  have  enjoyed  it  ! I saw  little  Job  actually 
laughing.  I think  I never  saw  him  do  more  than  smile 
before.”  Then  turning  round  to  Dominic,  she  said,  “ Will 
the  buggy  come  round  to  this  door  ? ” 

This  hint  was  sufficient.  Dominic  went . to  see  if  the 
vehicle  was  ready,  and  Denner,  remarking  that  Mrs.  Holt 
would  like  to  mount  it  in  the  inner  court,  invited  her  to  go 
back  into  the  housekeeper’s  room.  But  there  was  a fresh 
resistance  raised  in  Harry  by  the  threatened  departure  of 
job,  who  had  seemed  an  invaluable  addition  to  the  mena- 
gerie of  tamed  creatures  ; and  it  was  barely  in  time  that 
Esther  had  the  relief  of  seeing  the  entrance  hall  cleared  so  as 
to  prevent  any  further  encounter  of  Mrs.  Holt  with  Harold, 
who  was  now  coming  up  the  flight  of  steps  at  the  entrance. 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

I’m  sick  at  heart.  The  eye  of  day, 

The  insistent  summer  noon,  seems  pitiless, 

Shining.in  all  the  barren  crevices 
Of  weary  life,  leaving  no  shade,  no  dark. 

Where  I may  dream  that  hidden  waters  lie. 

Shortly  after  Mrs.  Holt's  striking  presentation  of  herself 
at  Transome  Court,  Esther  went  on  a second  .^sit  to  her 
father.  The  Loamford  Assizes  were  approaching  ; it  was 
expected  that  in  about  ten  days  Felix  Holt’s  trial  would 
come  on,  and  some  hints  in  her  father’s  letters  had  given 
Esther  the  impression  that  he  was  taking  a melancholy  view 
of  the  result.  Harold  Transome  had  once  or  twice  men- 
tioned the  subject  with  a facile  hopefulness  as  to  “ the  young 


THE  RADICAL. 


375 


fellow’s  coming  off  easily,”  which,  in  her  anxious  mind,  was 
not  a counterpoise  to  disquieting  suggestions,  and  she  had 
not  chosen  to  introduce  another  conversation  about  Felix 
Holt,  by  questioning  Harold  concerning  the  probabilities 
he  relied  on.  Since  those  moments  on  the  terrace,  Harold 
had  daily  become  more  of  the  solicitous  and  indirectly 
beseeching  lover  ; and  Esther,  from  the  very  fact  that  she 
was  weighed  on  by  thoughts  that  were  painfully  bewildering 
to  her— by  thoughts  which,  in  their  newness  to  her  young 
mind,  seemed  to  shake  her  belief  that  life  could  be  anything 
else  than  a compromise  with  things  repugnant  to  the  moral 
taste — had  become  more  passive  to  his  attentions  at  the  very 
time  that  she  had  begun  to  feel  more  profoundly  that  in 
accepting  Harold  Transome  she  left  the  high  mountainair,  the 
passionate  serenity  of  perfect  love  forever  behind  her,  and 
must  adjust  her  wishes  to  a life  of  middling  delights,  over- 
hung with  the  languorous  haziness  of  motiveless  ease,  where 
poetry  was  only  literature,  and  the  fine  ideas  had  to  be 
taken  down  from  the  shelves  of  the  library  when  her  hus- 
band’s back  was  turned.  But  it  seemed  as  if  all  outward 
conditions  concurred,  along  with  her  generous  sympathy  for 
the  Transomes,  and  with  those  native  tendencies  against 
which  she  had  once  begun  to  struggle,  to  make  this  mid- 
dling lot  the  best  she  could  attain  to.  She  was  in  this  half- 
sad,  half-satisfied  resignation  to  something  like  what  is  called 
worldly  wisdom,  when  she  went  to  see  her  father,  and  learn 
what  she  could  from  him  about  Felix. 

The  little  minister  was  much  depressed,  unable  to  resign 
himself  to  the  dread  which  had  begun  to  haunt  him,  that 
Felix  might  have  to  endure  the  odious  penalty  of  transport- 
ation for  the  manslaughter,  which  was  the  offence  that  no 
evidence  in  his  favor  could  disprove. 

“ I had  been  encouraged  by  the  assurances  of  men  instruct- 
ed in  this  regard,”  said  Mr.  Lyon,  while  Esther  sat  on  the 
stool  near  him,  and  listened  anxiously,  “ that  though  he  were 
pronounced  guilty  in  regard  to  this  deed  whereunto  he  hath 
calamitously  fallen,  yet  that  a judge  mildly  disposed,  and 
with  a due  sense  of  that  invisible  activity  of  the  soul  whereby 
the  deeds  which  are  the  same  in  outward  appearance  and 
effect,  yet  differ  as  the  knife-stroke  of  the  surgeon,  even 
though  it  kill,  differs  from  the  knife-stroke  of  a wanton 
mutilater,  might  use  his  discretion  in  tempering  the  punish- 
ment, so  that  it  would  not  be  very  evil  to  bear.  But  now  it 
is  said  that  the  judge  who  cometh  is  a severe  man,  and  one 


37 6 FELIX  HOLT, 

nourishing  a prejudice  against  the  bolder  spirits  who  stand 
not  in  the  old  paths.” 

“ I am  going  to  be  present  at  the  trial,  father,”  said  Esther, 
who  was  preparing  the  way  to  express  a wish,  which  she  was 
timid  about  even  with  her  father.  “ I mentioned  to  Mrs. 
Transome  that  I should  like  to  do  so,  and  she  said  that  she 
used  in  old  days  always  to  attend  the  assizes,  and  that  she 
would  take  me.  You  will  be  there,  father  ? ” 

“ Assuredly  I shall  be  there,  having  been  summoned  to 
bear  witness  to  Felix’s  character,  and  to  his  having  uttered 
remonstrances  and  warnings  long  beforehand  whereby  he 
proved  himself  an  enemy  to  riot.  In  our  ears,  who  know 
him,  it  sounds  strangely  that  aught  else  should  be  credible  ; 
but  he  hath  few  to  speak  for  him,  though  I trust  that  Mr. 
Harold  Transome’s  testimony  will  go  far,  if,  as  you  say,  he  is 
disposed  to  set  aside  minor  regards,  and  not  to  speak  the 
truth  grudgingly  and  reluctantly.  For  the  very  truth  hath 
a color  from  the  disposition  of  the  utterer.” 

“ He  is  kind  ; he  is  capable  of  being  generous,”  said 
Esther. 

“ It  is  well.  For  I verily  believe  that  evil-minded  men 
have  been  at  work  against  Felix.  The  Duffield  Watchman 
hath  written  continually  in  allusion  to  him  as  one  of  those 
mischievous  men  who  seek  to  elevate  themselves  through 
the  dishonor  of  their  party  ; and  as  one  of  those  who  go  not 
heart  and  soul  with  the  needs  of  the  people,  but  seek  only  to 
get  a hearing  for  themselves  by  raising  their  voices  in  crotch- 
ety discord.  It  is  these  things  that  cause  me  heaviness  of 
spirit  : the  dark  secret  of  this  young  man’s  lot  is  a cross  I 
carry  daily.” 

“Father,”  said  Esther,  timidly,  while  the  eyes  of  both  were 
filling  with  tears,  “ I should  like  to  see  him  again  before  his 
trial.  Might  I ? Will  you  ask  him  ? Will  you  take  me  ? ” 

The  minister  raised  his  suffused  eyes  to  hers,  and  did  not 
speak  for  a moment  or  two.  A new  thought  had  visited 
him.  But  his  delicate  tenderness  shrank  even  from  an  in- 
ward enquiry  that  was  too  curious — that  seemed  like  an 
effort  to  peep  at  sacred  secrets. 

“ I see  naught  against  it,  my  dear  child,  if  you  arrived 
early  enough,  and  would  take  the  elderly  lady  into  your  con- 
fidence, so  that  you  might  descend  from  the  carriage  at  some 
suitable  place — the  house  of  the  Independent  minister,  for 
example — where  I could  meet  and  accompany  you.  I would 
forewarn  Felix,  who  would  doubtless  delight  to  see  your  fac^ 


THE  RADICAL.  377 

again  ; seeing  that  he  may  go  away,  and  be,  as  it  were,  buried 

from  you, even  though  it  may  be  only  in  prison,  and  not ” 

This  was  too  much  for  Esther.  She  threw  her  arms 
round  her  father’s  neck  and  sobbed  like  a child.  It  was  an 
unspeakable  relief  to  her  after  all  the  pent-up,  stifling  expe- 
rience, all  the  inward  incommunicable  debate  of  the  last  few 
weeks.  The  old  man  was  deeply  moved,  too,  ao>d  held  his 
arm  close  round  the  dear  child,  praying  silently. 

No  word  was  spoken  for  some  minutes,  till  Esther  raised 
herself,  dried  her  eyes,  and,  with  an  action  that  seemed  play- 
ful, though  there  was  no  smile  on  her  face,  pressed  her 
handkerchief  against  her  father’s  cheeks.  Then,  when  she 
had  put  her  hand  in  his,  he  said,  solemnly — 

“ ’Tis  a great  and  mysterious  gift,  this  clinging  of  the 
heart,  my  Esther,  whereby  it  hath  o£ten  seemed  to  me  that 
even  in  the  very  moment  of  suffering  our  souls  have  the 
keenest  foretaste  of  heaven.  I speak  not  lightly,  but  as  one 
who  hath  endured.  And  ’tis  a strange  truth  that  only  in 
the  agony  of  parting  we  look  into  the  depths  of  love.” 

So  the  interview  ended,  without  any  question  from  Mr. 
Lyon  concerning  what  Esther  contemplated  as  the  ultimate 
arrangement  between  herself  and  the  Transomes. 

After  this  conversation,  which  showed  him  that  what  hap- 
pened to  Felix  touched  Esther  more  closely  than  he  had 
supposed,  the  minister  felt  no  impulse  to  raise  the  images  of 
a future  so  unlike  anything  that  Felix  would  share.  . And 
Esther  would  have  been  unable  to  answer  any  such  ques- 
tions. The  successive,  weeks,  instead  of  bringing  her  nearer 
to  clearness  and  decision,  had  only  brought  that  state  of  dis- 
enchantment belonging  to  the  actual  presence  of  things  which 
have  long  dwelt  in  the  imagination  with  all  the  factitious 
charms  of  arbitrary  arrangement.  Her  imaginary  mansion  had 
not  been  inhabited  just  as  Transome  Court  was  ; her  imagin- 
ary fortune  had  not  been  attended  with  circumstances  which 
she  was  unable  to  sweep  away.  She,  herself,  in  her  Utopia, 
had  never  been  what  she  was  now — a woman  whose  heart 
was  divided  and  oppressed.  The  first  spontaneous  offering 
of  her  woman’s  devotion,  the  first  great  inspiration  of  her 
life,  was  a sort  of  vanished  ecstasy  which  had  left  its  wounds. 
It  seemed  to  her  a cruel  misfortune  of  her,  young  life  that 
her  best  feeling,  her  most  precious  dependence,  had  been 
called  forth  just  where  the  conditions  were  hardest,  and  that 
all  the  easy  invitations  of  circumstance  were  toward  some- 
thing which  that  previous  consecration  of  her  longing  had 


37^ 


FELIX  HOLT, 


made  a moral  descent  for  her.  It  was  characteristic  of  her 
that  she  scarcely  at  all  entertained  the  alternative  of  such  a 
compromise  as  would  have  given  her  the  larger  portion  of 
the  fortune  to  which  she  had  a legal  claim,  and  yet  have 
satisfied  her  sympathy  by  leaving  the  Transomes  in  posses- 
sion of  their  old  home.  Her  domestication  with  this  family 
had  brought  them  into  the  foreground  of  her  imagination  ; 
the  gradual  wooing  of  Harold  had  acted  on  her  with  a con- 
stant immediate  influence  that  predominated  over  all  indefi- 
nite prospects  ; and  a solitary  elevation  to  wealth,  which  out 
of  Utopia  she  had  no  notion  how  she  should  manage,  looked 
as  chill  and  dreary  as  the  offer  of  dignities  in  an  unknown 
country. 

In  the  ages  since  Adam’s  marriage,  it  has  been  good  for 
some  men  to  be  alone,  and  for  some  women  also.  But 
Esther  was  not  one  of  these  women  : she  was  intensely  of 
the  feminine  type,  verging  neither  toward  the  saint  nor  the 
angel.  She  was  “ a fair  divided  excellence,  whose  fullness 
of  perfection  ” must  be  in  marriage.  And,  like  all  youthful 
creatures,  she  felt  as  if  the  present  conditions  of  choice  were 
final.  It  belonged  to  the  freshness  of  her  heart  that,  having 
had  her  emotions  strongly  stirred  by  real  objects,  she  never 
speculated  on  possible  relations  yet  to  come.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  she  stood  at  the  first  and  last  parting  of  the  ways.  And,  in 
one  sense  she  was  under  no  illusion.  It  is  only  in  that 
freshness  of  our  time  that  the  choice  is  possible  which  gives 
unity  to  life,  and  makes  the  memory  a temple  where  all  relics 
and  all  votive  offerings,  all  worship  and  all  grateful  joy,  are 
an  unbroken  history  sanctified  by  one  religion. 

CHAPTER  XLV. 

We  may  not  make  this  world  a paradise 
By  walking  it  together  with  clasped  hands 
And  eyes  that  meeting  feed  a double  strength. 

We  must  be  only  joined  by  pains  divine, 

Of  spirits  blent  in  mutual  memories. 

It  was  a consequence  of  that  interview  with  her  father, 
that  when  Esther  stepped  early  on  a gray  March  morning 
into  the  carriage  with  Mrs.  Transome,  to  go  to  the  Loam- 
ford  Assizes,  she  was  full  of  an  expectation  that  held  her 
lips  in  trembling  silence,  and  gave  her  eyes  that  sightless 
beauty  which  tells  that  the  vision  is  all  within. 

Mrs.  Transome  did  not  disturb  her  with  unnecessary 
speech.  Of  late,  Esther’s  anxious  observation  had  been 
drawn  to  a change  in  Mrs.  Transome,  shown  in  many  small 


THE  RADICAL. 


379 


ways  which  only  women  notice.  It  was  not  only  that  when 
they  sat  together  the  talk  seemed  more  of  an  effort  to  her  : 
that  might  have  come  from  the  gradual  draining  away  of 
matter  for  discourse  pertaining  to  most  sorts  of  companion- 
ship, in  which  repetition  is  not  felt  to  be  as  desirable  as 
novelty.  But  while  Mrs.  Transome  was  dressed  just  as 
usual,  took  her  seat  as  usual,  trifled  with  her  drugs  and  had 
her  embroidery  before  her  as  usual,  and  still  made  her  morning 
greetings  with  that  finished  easy  politeness  and  consideration 
of  tone  which  to  rougher  people  seems  like  affectation,  Esther 
noticed  a strange  fitfulness  in  her  movements.  Sometimes 
the  stitches  of  her  embroidery  went  on  with  silent  unbroken 
swiftness  for  a quarter  of  an  hour,  as  if  she  had  to  work  out 
her  deliverance  from  bondage  by  finishing  a scroll-pattern- 
ed border  ; then  her  hands  dropped  suddenly  and  her  gaze 
fell  blankly  on  the  table  before  her,  and  she  would  sit  in 
that  way  motionless  as  a seated  statue,  apparently  uncon- 
scious of  Esther’s  presence,  till  some  thought  darting  within 
her  seemed  to  have  the  effect  of  an  external’  shock  and 
rouse  her  with  a start,  when  she  looked  around  hastily  like 
a person  ashamed  of  having  slept.  Esther,  touched  with 
wondering  pity  at  signs  of  unhappiness  that  were  new  in  her 
experience,  took  the  most  delicate  care  to  appear  inobserv- 
ant, and  only  tried  to  increase  the  gentle  attention  that 
might  help  to  soothe  or  gratify  this  uneasy  woman.  But,  one 
morning,  Mrs.  Transome  had  said,  breaking  a rather  long 
silence — 

“ My  dear,  I shall  make  this  house  dull  for  you.  You  sit 
with  me  like  an  embodied  patience.  I am  unendurable  ; I 
am  getting  into  a melancholy  dotage.  A fidgety  old  woman 
like  me  is  as  unpleasant  to  see  as  a rook  with  its  wing  brok- 
en. Don’t  mind  me,  my  dear.  Run  away  from  me  without 
ceremony.  Every  one  else  does,  you  see.  I am  part  of  the 
old  furniture  with  new  drapery.” 

“Dear  Mrs.  Transome,”  said  Esther,  gliding  to  the  low 
ottoman  close  by  the  basket  of  embroidery,  “ do  you  dislike 
my  sitting  with  you  ? ” 

“ Only  for  your  own  sake,  my  fairy,”  said  Mrs.  Transome, 
smiling  faintly,  and  putting  her  hand  under  Esther’s  chin. 
“ Doesn’t  it  make  you  shudder  to  look  at  me  ? ” 

“ Why  will  you  say  such  naughty  things  ? ” said  Esther, 
affectionately.  “ If  you  had  had  a daughter,  she  would  have 
desired  to  be  with  you  most  when  you  most  wanted  cheer- 
ing. And  surely  every  young  woman  has  something  of  a 


380  FELIX  HOLT, 

daughter’s  feeling  toward  an  older  one  who  has  been  kind  to 
her.” 

“ I should  like  you  to  be  really  my  daughter,”  said  Mrs. 
Transome,  rousing  herself  to  look  a little  brighter.  “ That 
is  something  still  for  an  old' woman  to  hope  for.” 

Esther  blushed  : she  had  not  foreseen  this  application  of 
words  that  came  from  pitying  .tenderness.  To  divert  the 
train  of  thought  as  quickly  as  possible,  she  at  once  asked 
what  she  had  previously  had  in  her  mind  to  ask.  Before 
her  blush  had  disappeared  she  said  : 

“ Oh,  you  are  so  good  ; I shall  ask  you  to  indulge  me  very 
much.  It  is  to  let  us  set  out  very  early  to  Loamford  on 
Wednesday,  and  put  me  down  at  a particular  house,  that  I 
may  keep  an  appointment  with  my  father.  It  is  a private 
matter,  that  I wish  no  one  to  know  about,  if  possible.  And 
he  will  bring  me  back  to  you  wherever  you  appoint.” 

In  that  way  Esther  won  her  end  without  needing  to  betray 
it ; and  as  Harold  was  already  away  at  Loamford,  she  was 
the  more  secure. 

The  Independent  minister’s  house  at  which  she  was  set 
down,  and  where  she  was  received  by  her  father,  was  in  a 
quiet  street  not  far  from  the  jail.  Esther  had  thrown  a dark 
cloak  over  the  handsomer  coverings  which  Denner  had  as- 
sured her  were  absolutely  required  of  ladies  who  sat  any- 
where near  the  judge  at  a great  trial  ; and  as  the  bonnet  of  that 
day  did  not  throw  the  face  into  high  relief,  but  rather  into 
perspective,  a veil  drawn  down  gave  her  a sufficiently  incon- 
spicuous appearance. 

“ I have  arranged  all  things,  my  dear,”  said  Mr.  Lyon, 
“ and  Felix  expects  us.  We  will  lose  no  time.” 

They  walked  away  at  once,  Esther  not  asking  a question. 
She  had  no  consciousness  of  the  road  along  which  they 
passed  ; she  could  never  remember  anything  but  a dim  sense 
of  entering  within  high  walls  and  going  along  passages,  till 
they  were  ushered  into  a larger  space  than  she  had  expected, 
and  her  father  said  : 

“ It  is  here  that  we  are  permitted  to  see  Felix,  my  Esther. 
He  will  presently  appear.” 

Esther  automatically  took  off  her  gloves  and  bonnet,  as  if 
she  had  entered  the  house  after  a walk.  She  had  lost  the 
complete  consciousness  of  everything  except  that  she  was 
going  to  see  Felix.  She  trembled.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if 
he  too  would  look  altered  after  her  new  life — as  if  even  the 
past  would  change  for  her  and  be  no  longer  a steadfast  re- 


THE  RADICAL. 


381 

membrance,  but  something  she  had  been  mistaken  about,  as 
she  had  been  about  the  new  life.  Perhaps  she  was  growing 
out  of  that  childhood  to  which  common  things  have  rare- 
ness, and  all  objects  look  larger.  Perhaps  from  henceforth 
the  whole  world  was  to  be  meaner  for  her.  The  dread  con- 
centrated in  those  few  moments  seemed  worse  than  anything 
she  had  known  before.  It  was  what  the  dread  of  the  pilgrim 
might  be  who  has  it  whispered  to  him  that  the  holy  places 
are  a delusion,  or  that  he  will  see  them  with  a soul  unstirred 
and  unbelieving.  Every  minute  that  passes  may  be  charged 
with  some  such  crisis  in  the  little  inner  world  of  man  or  woman. 

But  soon  the  door  opened  slightly ; some  one  looked  in  ; 
then  it  opened  wide,  and  Felix  Holt  entered. 

“ Miss  Lyon — Esther  ! ” and  her  hand  was  in  his  grasp. 

He  was  just  the  same — no,  something  inexpressibly  better, 
because  of  the  distance  and  separation,  and  the  half-weary 
novelties,  which  made  him  like  the  return  of  the  morning. 

“ Take  no  heed  of  me,  children/’  said  Mr.  Lyon.  “ I 
have  some  notes  to  make,  and  my  time  is  precious.  We  may 
remain  here  only  a quarter  of  an  hour/’  And  the  old  man 
sat  down  at  a window  with  his  back  to  them,  writing  with 
his  head  bent  close  to  the  paper. 

“ You  are  very  pale  ; you  look  ill,  compared  with  your  old 
self,”  said  Esther.  She  had  taken  her  hand  away,  but  they 
stood  still  near  each  other,  she  looking  up  at  him. 

“ The  fact  is,  I’m  not  fond  of  prison,”  said  Felix,  smiling  ; 
“ but  I suppose  the  best  I can  hope  for  is  to  have  a good 
deal  more  of  it.” 

“ It  is  thought  that  in  the  worst  case  a pardon  maybe  ob- 
tained,” said  Esther,  avoiding  Harold  Transome’s  name. 

“ I don’t  rely  on  that,”  said  Felix,  shaking  his  head. 
“ My  wisest  course  is  to  make  up  my  mind  to  the  very  ugliest 
penalty  they  can  condemn  me  to.  If  I can  face  that,  any- 
thing less  will  seem  easy.  But  you  know,”  he  went  on, 
smiling  at  her  brightly,  “ I never  went  in  for  fine  company 
and  cushions.  I can’t  be  very  heavily  disappointed  in  that  way.  ” 

“ Do  you  see  things  just  as  you  used  to  do  ?”  said  Esther, 
turning  pale  as  she  said  it — “ I mean — about  poverty,  and 
the  people  you  will  live  among.  Has  all  the  misunderstand- 
ing and  sadness  left  you  just  as  obstinate?”  She  tried  to 
smile,  but  could  not  succeed. 

“ What — about  the  sort  of  life  I should  lead  if  I were  free 
again  ? ” said  Felix. 

“ Yes.  I can’t  help  being  discouraged  for  you  by  all  these 


FELIX  HOLT, 


382 

things  that  have  happened.  See  how  you  may  fail ! ” Esther 
spoke  timidly.  She  saw  a peculiar  smile,  which  she  knew 
well,  gathering  in  his  eyes.  “ Ah,  I dare  say  I am  silly,” 
she  said,  deprecatingly. 

“ No,  you  are  dreadfully  inspired,”  said  Felix.  “When 
the  wicked  Tempter  is  tired  of  snarling  that  word  failure  in 
a man’s  cell,  he  sends  a voice  like  a thrush  to  say  it  for  him. 
See  now  what  a messenger  of  darkness  you  are  ! ” He  smiled, 
and  took  her  two  hands  between  his,  pressed  together  as 
children  hold  them  up  in  prayer.  Both  of  them  felt  too  sol- 
emnly to  be  bashful.  They  looked  straight  into  each  other’s 
eyes,  as  angels  do  when  they  tell  some  truth.  And  they  stood 
in  that  way  while  he  went  on  speaking. 

“ But  I’m  proof  against  that  word  failure.  I’ve  seen 
behind  it.  The  only  failure  a man  ought  to  fear  is  failure 
in  cleaving  to  the  purpose  he  sees  to  be  best.  As  to  just  the 
amount  of  result  he  may  see  from  his  particular  work — that’s 
a tremendous  uncertainty  : the  universe  has  not  been  arranged 
for  the  gratification  of  his  feelings.  As  long  as  a man  sees 
and  believes  in  some  great  good,  he’ll  prefer  working  toward 
that  in  the  way  he’s  best  fit  for,  come  what  may.  I put  effects 
at  their  minimum,  but  I’d  rather  have  the  maximum  of  effect, 
if  it’s  of  the  sort  I care  for,  than  the  maximum  of  effect  I 
don’t  care  for — a lot  of  fine  things  that  are  not  to  my  taste — 
and  if  they  were, the  conditions  of  holding  them  while  the  world 
is  what  it  is,  are  such  as  would  jar  on  me  like  grating  metal.” 

“Yes,”  said  Esther,  in  a lone  tone,  “ I think  I understand 
that  now,  better  than  I used  to  do.”  The  words  of  Felix  at 
last  seemed  strangely  to  fit  her  own  experience.  But  she  said 
no  more,  though  he  seemed  to  wait  for  it  a moment  or  two, 
looking  at  her.  But  then  he  went  on — 

“ I don’t  mean  to  be  illustrious,  you  know,  and  make  a new 
era,  else  it  wpuld  be  kind  of  you  to  get  a raven  and  teach  it 
to  croak  ‘ failure  ’ in  my  ears.  Where  great  things  can’t 
happen,  I care  for  very  small  things,  such  as  will  never  be 
known  beyond  a few  garrets  and  workshops.  And  then,  as 
to  one  thing  I believe  in,  I don’t  think  I can  altogether  fail. 
If  there’s  anything  our  people  want  convincing  of,  it  is,  that 
there’s  some  dignity  and  happiness  for  a man  other  than 
changing  his  station.  That’s  one  of  the  beliefs  I choose  to 
consecrate  my  life  to.  If  anybody  could  demonstrate  to  me 
that  I was  a flat  for  it,  I shouldn’t  think  it  would  follow  that 
I must  borrow  money  to  set  up  genteelly  and  order  new  clothes. 
That’s  not  a rigorous  consequence  to  my  understanding.” 


THE  RADICAL.  3&3 

They  smiled  at  each  other,  with  the  old  sense  of  amuse- 
ment they  had  so  often  had  together. 

“ You  are  just  the  same,”  said  Esther. 

“ And  you  ? ” said  Felix.  “ My  affairs  have  been  settled 
long  ago.  But  yours — a great  change  has  come  in  them — 
magic  at  work.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Esther,  rather  falteringly. 

“Well,”  said  Felix,  looking  at  her  gravely  again,  “it's  a 
case  of  fitness  that  seems  to  give  a chance  sanction  to  that 
musty  law.  The  first  time  I saw  you  your  birth  was  an 
immense  puzzle  to  me.  However,  the  appropriate  conditions 
are  come  at  last.” 

These  words  seemed  cruel  to  Esther.  But  Felix  could  not 
know  all  the  reasons  for  their  seeming  so.  She  could  not 
speak;  shewas  turning  cold  and  feeling  her  heart  beat  painfully. 

“All  your  tastes  are  gratified  now,”  he  went  on  innocently. 
“ But  you’ll  remember  the  old  pedagogue  and  his  lectures  ? ” 

One  thought  in  the  mind  of  Felix  was,  that  Esther  was 
sure  to  marry  Harold  Transome.  Men  readily  believe  these 
things  of  the  women  who  love  them.  But  he  could  not  allude 
to  the  marriage  more  directly.  He  was  afraid  of  this  destiny 
for  her,  without  having  any  very  distinct  knowledge  by 
which  to  justify  his  fear  to  the  mind  of  another.  It  did  not 
satisfy  him  that  Esther  should  marry  Harold  Transome. 

“My  children/’  said  Mr.  Lyon  at  this  moment,  not  look- 
ing round,  but  only  looking  close  at  his  watch,  “ we  have  just 
two  minutes  more.”  Then  he  went  on  writing. 

Esther  did  not  speak,  but  Felix  could  not  help  observing 
now  that  her  hands  had  turned  to  a deathly  coldness,  and 
that  she  was  trembling.  He  believed,  he  knew,  that  what- 
ever prospects  she  had,  this  feeling  was  for  his  sake.  An  over- 
powering impulse  from  mingled  love,  gratitude,  and  anxiety, 
urged  him  to  say — 

“ I had  a horrible  struggle, Esther.  But  you  see  I was  right. 
There  was  a fitting  lot  in  reserve  for  you.  But  remember  you 
have  cost  a great  price — don’t  throw  what  is  precious  away.  I 
shall  want  the  news  that  you  have  a happiness  worthy  of  you.” 

Esther  felt. too  miserable  for  tears  to  come.  She  looked 
helplessly  at  Felix  for  a moment,  then  took  her  hands  from 
his,  and,  turning  away  mutely,  walked  dreamily  toward  her 
father,  and  said,  “ Father,  I am  ready — there  is  no  more  to  say.” 

She  turned  back  again,  toward  the  chair  where  her  bonnet 
lay,  with  a face  quite  corpse-like  above  her  dark  garments. 

“ Esther  ! ” 


3§4 


FELIX  HOLT, 


She  heard  Felix  say  the  word,  with  an  entreating  cry,  and 
went  toward  him  with  the  swift  movement  of  a frightened 
child  toward  its  protector.  He  clasped  her,  and  they  kissed 
each  other. 

She  never  could  recall  anything  else  that  happened,  till 
she  was  in  the  carriage  again  with  Mrs.  Transome. 

CHAPTER  XLVI.  ' 

Why,  there  are  maidens  of  heroic  touch, 

And  yet  they  seem  like  things  of  gossamer 
You’d  pinch  the  life  out  of,  as  out  of  moths. 

Oh,  it  is  not  loud  tones  and  mouthingness, 

’Tis  not  the  arms  akimbo  and  large  strides, 

That  make  a woman’s  force.  The  tiniest  birds, 

With  softest  downy  breasts,  have  passions  in  them, 

And  are  brave  with  love. 

Esther  was  so  placed  in  the  Court,  under  Mrs.  Tran- 
some’s  wing,  as  to  see  and  hear  everything  without  effort : 
Harold  had  received  them  at  the  hotel,  and  had  observed 
that  Esther  looked  ill,  and  was  unusually  abstracted  in  her 
manner  ; but  this  seemed  to  be  sufficiently  accounted  for  by 
her  sympathetic  anxiety  about  the  result  of  a trial  in  which 
the  prisoner  at  the  bar  was  a friend,  and  in  which  both  her 
father  and  himself  were  important  witnesses.  Mrs.  Tran- 
some had  no  reluctance  to  keep  a small  secret  from  her  son, 
and  no  betrayal  was  made  of  that  previous  “ engagement  ” 
of  Esther’s  with  her  father.  Harold  was  particularly  deli- 
cate and  unobtrusive  in  his  attentions  to-day  : he  had  the 
consciousness  that  he  was  going  to  behave  in  a way  that 
would  gratify  Esther  and*win  her  admiration,  and  we  are  all 
of  us  made  more  graceful  by  the  inward  presence  of  what  we 
believe  to  be  a generous  purpose  ; our  actions  move  to  a hid- 
den music — “ a melody  that’s  sweetly  played  in  tune.” 

If  Esther  had  been  less  absorbed  by  supreme  feelings,  she 
would  have  been  aware  that  she  was  an  object  of  special 
notice.  In  the  bare  squareness  of  a public  hall,  where  there 
was  not  one  jutting  angle  to  hang  a guess  or  a thought  upon, 
not  an  image  or  a bit  of  color  to  stir  the  fancy,  and  where 
the  only  objects  of  speculation,  of  admiration,  or  of  any  in- 
terest whatever  were  human  beings,  that  occupied  positions 
indicating  some  importance,  the  notice  bestowed  on  Esther 
would  not  have  been  surprising,  even  if  it  had  been  merely  a 
tribute  to  her  youthful  charm,  which  was  well  championed 
by  Mrs.  Transome’s  elderly  majesty.  But  it  was  due  also  to 
whisperings  that  she  was  an  hereditary  claimant  of  the 
Transome  estates,  whom  Harold  Transome  was  about  to  mar- 


1*H£  RADICAL. 


33s 

fy.  Harold  hinlself  had  of  late  not  cared  to  conceal  either  the 
fact  or  the  probability  : they  both  tended  rather  to  his  honor 
than  his  dishonor.  And  to-day,  when  there  was  a good  pro- 
portion of  Trebians  present,  the  whisperings  spread  rapidly. 

The  Court  was  still  more  crowded  than  on  the  previous 
day,  when  our  poor  acquaintance  Dredge  and  his  two  collier 
companions  were  sentenced  to  a year’s  imprisonment  with 
hard  labor,  and  the  more  enlightened  prisoner,  who  stole  the 
Debarry’s  plate,  to  transportation  for  life.  Poor  Dredge  had 
cried,  had  wished  he’d  “ never  heared  of  ’lection,”  and  in 
spite  of  sermons  from  the  jail  chaplain,  fell  back  on  the  ex- 
planation that  this  was  a world  in  which  Spratt  and  Old  Nick 
were  sure  to  get  the  best  of  it ; so  that  in  Dredge's  'case,  at 
least,  most  observers  must  have  had  the  melancholy  convic- 
tion that  there  had  been  no  enhancement  of  public  spirit 
and  faith  in  progress  from  that  wave  of  political  agitation 
which  had  reached  the  Sproxton  Pits. 

But  curiosity  was  necessarily  at  a higher  pitch  to-day,  when 
the  character  of  the  prisoner  and  the  circumstances  of  his  of- 
fence were  of  a highly  unusual  kind.  Soon  as  Felix  appeared  at 
the  bar,  a murmur  rose  and  spread  into  a loud  buzz,  which 
continued  until  there  had  been  repeated  authoritative  calls  for 
silence  in  the  Court.  Rather  singularly,  it  was  now  for  the 
first  time  that  Esther  had  a feeling  of  pride  in  him  on  the 
ground  simply  of  his  appearance.  At  this  moment,  when  he 
was  the  centre  of  a multitudinous  gaze,  which  seemed  to  act 
on  her  own  vision  like  a broad  unmitigated  daylight,  she  felt 
that  there  was  something  pre-eminent  in  him,  notwithstand- 
ing the  vicinity  of  numerous  gentlemen.  No  apple-woman 
would  have  admired  him  ; not  only  to  feminine  minds  like 
Mrs.  Tiliot’s,  but  to  many  minds  in  coat  and  waistcoat,  there 
was  something  dangerous  and  perhaps  unprincipled  in  his 
bare  throat  and  great  Gothic  head  ; and  his  somewhat  mas- 
sive person  would  doubtless  have  come  out  very  oddly  from 
the  hands  of  a fashionable  tailor  of  that  time.  But  as  Esther 
saw  his  large  gray  eyes  looking  round  calmly  and  undefiantly, 
first  at  the  audience  generally,  and  then  with  a more  ob- 
servant expression  at  the  lawyers  and  other  persons  imme- 
diately around  him,  she  felt  that  he  bore  the  outward  stamp 
of  a distinguished  nature.  Forgive  her  if  she  needed  this 
satisfaction  ; all  of  us,  whether  men  or  women,  are  liable  to 
this  weakness  of  liking  to  have  our  preference  justified  be- 
fore others  as  well  as  ourselves.  Esther  said  inwardly,  with 
a certain  triumph,  that  Felix  Holt  looked  as  worthy  to  be 


FELIX  MOLT, 


3^ 

chosen  in  the  midst  of  this  large  assembly,  as  he  had  ever 
looked  in  their  tete-a-tete  under  the  sombre  light  of  the  little 
parlor  in  Malthouse  Yard. 

Esther  had  felt  some  relief  in  hearing  from  her  father  that 
Felix  had  insisted  on  doing  without  his  mother’s  presence  ; 
and  since  to  Mrs.  Holt’s  imagination,  notwithstanding  her 
general  desire  to  have  her  character  enquired  into,  there  was 
no  greatly  consolatory  difference  between  being  a witness 
and  a criminal,  and  an  appearance  of  any  kind  “ before  the 
judge  ” could  hardly  be  made  to  suggest  anything  definite 
that  would  overcome  the  dim  sense  of  unalleviated  disgrace, 
she  had  been  less  inclined  than  usual  to  complain  of  her  son’s 
decision.  Esther  had  shuddered  beforehand  at  the  inevita- 
ble farce  there  would  be  in  Mrs.  Holt’s  testimony.  But 
surely  Felix  would  lose  something  for  want  of  a witness  who 
could  testify  to  his  behavior  in  the  morning  before  he  became 
involved  in  the  tumult  ? 

“ He  is  really  a fine  young  fellow,”  said  Harold,  coming 
to  speak  to  Esther  after  a colloquy  with  the  prisoner’s  solicitor. 
“I  hope  he  will  not  make  a blunder  in  defending  himself.” 

“ He  is  not  likely  to  make  a blunder,”  said  Esther.  She 
had  recovered  her  color  a little,  and  was  brighter  than  she 
had  been  all  the  morning  before. 

Felix  had  seemed  to  include  her  in  his  general  glance,  but 
had  avoided  looking  at  her  particularly.  She  understood 
how  delicate  feeling  for  her  would  prevent  this,  and  that  she 
might  safely  look  at  him,  and  toward  her  father,  whom  she 
could  see  in  the  same  direction.  Turning  to  Harold,  to 
make  an  observation,  she  saw  that  he  was  looking  toward  the 
same  point,  but  with  an  expression  on  his  face  that  sur- 
prised her. 

“ Dear  me,”  she  said,  prompted  to  speak  without  any  re- 
flection ; “•how  angry  you  look  ! I never  saw  you  look  so 
angry  before.  It  is  not  my  father  you  are  looking  at  ? ” 

“ Oh,  no  ! I am  angry  at  something  l*m  looking  away 
from,”  said  Harold,  making  an  effort  to  drive  back  the 
troublesome  demon  who  would  stare  out  at  window.  “It’s 
that  Jermyn,”  he  added,  glancing  at  his  mother  as  well  as 
Esther.  ” He  will  thrust  himself  under  my  eyes  everywhere 
since  I refused  him  an  interview  and  returned  his  letter.  I’m 
determined  never  to  speak  to  him  directly  again,  if  I can 
help  it.” 

Mrs.  Transome  heard  with  a changeless  face.  She  had 
for  some  time  been  watching,  and  had  taken  on  her  marble 


THE  RADICAL.  387 

look  of  immobility.  She  said  an  inward  bitter  “ Of  course  ! ” 
to  everything  that  was  unpleasant. 

After  this  Esther  soon  became  impatient  of  all  speech  ; her 
attention  was  rivetted  on  the  proceedings  of  the  Court,  and 
on  the  mode  in  which  Felix  bore  himself.  In  the  case  for 
the  prosecution  there  was  nothing  more  than  a reproduction, 
with  irrelevancies  added  by  witnesses,  of  the  facts  already 
known  to  us.  Spratt  had  retained  consciousness  enough,  in 
the  midst  of  his  terror,  to  swear  that,  when  he  was  tied  to  the 
finger-post,  Felix  was  presiding  over  the  actions  of  the  mob. 
The  landlady  of  the  Seven  Stars,  who  was  indebted  to  Felix 
for  rescue  from  pursuit  by  some  drunken  rioters,  gave  evidence 
that  went  to  prove  his  assumption  of  leadership  prior  to  the 
assault  on  Spratt, — remembering  only  that  he  had  called  away 
her  pursuers  to  “ better  sport.”  Various  respectable  wit- 
nesses swore  to  Felix’s  “ encouragement  ” of  the  rioters  who 
were  dragging  Spratt  in  King  Street ; to  his  fatal  assault  on 
Tucker;  and  to  his  attitude  in  front  of  the  drawing-room 
window  at  the  Manor. 

Three  other  witnesses  gave  evidence  of  expressions  used 
by  the  prisoner,  tending  to  show  the  character  of  the  acts 
with  which  he  was  charged.  Two  were  Treby  tradesmen, 
the  third  was  a clerk  from  Duffield.  The  clerk  had  heard 
Felix  speak  at  Duffield  ; the  Treby  men  had  frequently  heard 
him  declare  himself  on  public  matters ; and  they  all  quoted 
expressions  which  tended  to  show  that  he  had  a virulent  feel- 
ing against  the  respectable  shopkeeping  class,  and  that  noth- 
ing was  likely  to  be  more  congenial  to  him  than  the  gutting 
of  retailer’s  shops.  No  one  else  knew — the  witnesses  them- 
selves did  not  know  fully — how  far  their  strong  perception 
and  memory  on  these  points  was  due  to  a fourth  mind, 
namely,  that  of  Mr.  John  Johnson,  the  attorney,  who  was 
nearly  related  to  one  of  the  Treby  witnesses,  and  a familiar 
acquaintance  of  the  Duffield  clerk.  Man  cannot  be  defined 
as  an  evidence-giving  animal ; and  in  the  difficulty  of  getting 
up  evidence  on  any.  subject,  there  is  room  for  much  un- 
recognized action  of  diligent  persons  who  have  the  extra 
stimulus  of  some  private  motive.  Mr.  Johnson  was  present 
in  Court  to-day,  but  in  a modest,  retired  situation.  He  had 
come  down  to  give  information  to  Mr.  Jermyn,  and  to  gather 
information  in  other  quarters,  which  was  well  illuminated  by 
the  appearance  of  Esther  in  company  with  the  Transomes. 

When  the  case  for  the  prosecution  closed,  all  strangers 
thought  that  it  looked  very  black  for  the  prisoner.  In  two 


FELIX  MOLT, 


3« 

instances  only  Felix  had  chosen  to  put  a cross-examining 
question.  The  first  was  to  ask  Spratt  if  he  did  not  believe 
that  his  having  been  tied  to  the  post  had  saved  him  from  a 
probably  mortal  injury?  The  second  was  to  ask  the  trades- 
man who  swore  to  his  having  heard  Felix  tell  the  rioters  to 
leave  Tucker  alone  and  come  along  with  him,  whether  he 
had  not,  shortly  before,  heard  cries  among  the  mob  summon- 
ing to  an  attack  on  the  wine-vaults  and  brewery. 

Esther  had  hitherto  listened  closely  but  calmly.  She 
knew  that  there  would  be  this  strong  adverse  testimony  ; and 
all  her  hopes  and  fears  were  bent  on  what  was  to  come 
beyond  it.  It  was  when  the  prisoner  was  asked  what  he 
had  to  adduce  in  reply  that  she  felt  herself  in  the  grasp  of 
that  tremor  which  does  not  disable  the  mind,  but  rather 
gives  keener  consciousness  of  a mind  having  a penalty  of 
body  attached  to  it. 

There  was  a silence  as  of  night  when  Felix  Holt  began 
to  speak.  His  voice  was  firm  and  clear  : he  spoke  with 
simple  gravity,  and  evidently  without  any  enjoyment  of  the 
occasion.  Esther  had  never  seen  his  face  look  so  weary. 

“ My  Lord,  I am  not  going  to  occupy  the  time  of  the 
Court  with  unnecessary  words.  I believe  the  witnesses  for 
the  prosecution  have  spoken  the  truth  as  far  as  a superficial 
observation  would  enable  them  to  do  it  ; and  I see  nothing 
that  can  weigh  with  the  jury  in  my  favor,  unless  they 
believe  my  statement  of  my  own  motives,  and  the  testimony 
that  certain  witnesses  will  give  to  my  character  and  purposes 
as  being  inconsistent  with  my  willingly  abetting  disorder. 
I will  tell  the  Court  in  as  few  words  as  I can,  how  I got 
entangled  in  the  mob,  how  I came  to  attack  the  constable, 
and  how  I was  led  to  take  a course  which  seems  rather  mad 
to  myself,  now  I look  back  upon  it.” 

Felix  then  gave  a concise  narrative  of  his  motives  and 
conduct  on  the  day  of  the  riot,  from  the  moment  when  he 
was  startled  into  quitting  his  work  by  the  earlier  uproar  of 
the  morning.  He  omitted,  of  course,  his  visit  to  Malthouse 
Yard,  and  merely  said  that  he  went  out  to  walk  again  after 
returning  to  quiet  his  mother’s  mind.  He  got  warmed  by 
the  story  of  his  experience,  which  moved  him  more  strongly 
than  ever,  now  he  recalled  it  in  vibrating  words  before 
a large  audience  of  his  fellow-men.  The  sublime  delight 
of  truthful  speech  to  one  who  has  the  great  gift  of  utter- 
ing it,  will  make  itself  felt  even  through  the  pangs  of 
sorrow. 


THE  RADICAL. 


38  9 


“ That  is  all  I have  to  say  for  myself,  my  Lord.  I pleaded 
* Not  guilty  ’ to  the  charge  of  manslaughter,  because  I know 
that  word  may  carry  a meaning  which  would  not  fairly  apply 
to  my  act.  When  I threw  Tucker  down,  I did  not  see  the 
possibility  that  he  would  die  from  a sort  of  attack  which 
ordinarily  occurs  in  fighting  without  any  fatal  effect.  As 
to  my  assaulting  a constable,  it  was  a quick  choice  between 
two  evils  : I should  else  have  been  disabled.  And  he 
attacked  me  under  a mistake  about  my  intentions.  I’m  not 
prepared  to  say  I never  would  assault  a constable  where  I 
had  more  chance  of  deliberation.  I certainly  should  assault 
him  if  I saw  him  doing  anything  that  made  my  blood  boil  : 
I reverence  the  law,  but  not  where  it  is  a pretext  for  wrong, 
which  it  should  be  the  very  object  of  law  to  hinder.  I con- 
sider that  I should  be  making  an  unworthy  defence,  if  I let 
the  Court  infer  from  what  I say  myself,  or  from  what  is 
said  by  my  witnesses,  that  because  I am  a man  who  hates 
drunken,  motiveless  disorder,  or  any  wanton  harm,  .there- 
fore I am  a man  who  would  never  fight  against  authority  : 
I hold  it  blasphemy  to  say  that  a man  ought  not  to  fight 
against  authority  : there  is  no  great  religion  and  no 
great  freedom  that  has  not  done  it,  in  the  beginning. 
It  would  be  impertinent  for  me  to  speak  of  this  now, 
if  I did  not  need  to  say  in  my  own  defence,  that  I should 
hold  myself  the  worst  son  of  traitor  if  I put  my  hand  to 
either  fighting  «or  disorder — which  must  mean  to  injure 
somebody — if  I were  not  urged  to  it  by  what  I hold  to  be 
sacred  feelings,  making  a sacred  duty  either  to  my  own 
manhood  or  to  my  fellow-man.  And  certainly,”  Felix 
ended,  with  a strong  ring  of  scorn  in  his  voice,  “ I never 
held  it  a sacred  duty  to  try  and  get  a Radical  candidate 
returned  for  North  Loamshire,  by  willingly  heading  a 
drunken  howling  mob,  whose  public  action  must  consist  in 
breaking  windows,  destroying  hard-got  produce,  and  endan- 
gering the  lives  of  men  and  women.  I have  no  more  to 
say,  my  Lord.” 

I foresaw  he  would  make  a blunder,”  said  Harold,  in  a 
low  voice  to  Esther.  Then,  seeing  her  shrink  a little,  he 
feared  she  might  suspect  him  of  being  merely  stung  by  the 
allusion  to  himself.  “ I don’t  mean  what  he  said  about  the 
Radical  candidate,”  he  added,  hastily,  in  correction.  “ I 
don’t  mean  the  last  sentence.  I mean  that  whole  peroration 
of  his,  which  he  ought  to  have  left  unsaid.  It  has  done  him 
harm  with  the  jury — they  won’t  understand  it?  or  rather  will 


39°  FELIX  HOLT 

misunderstand  it.  And  I’ll  answer  for  it,  it  has  soured  the 
judge.  It  remains  to  be  seen  what  we  witnesses  can  say  for 
him,  to  nullify  the  effect  of  what  he  has  said  for  himself.  I 
hope  the  attorney  has  done  his  best  in  collecting  the  evidence: 
I understand  the  expense  of  the  witnesses  is  undertaken  by 
some  Liberals  at  Glasgow  and  in  Lancashire, friends  of  Holt’s. 
But  I suppose  your  father  has  told  you.” 

The  first  witness  called  to  the  defence  was  Mr.  Lyon. 
The  gist  of  his  statements  was,  that  from  the  beginning  of 
September  last  till  the  day  of  the  election  he  was  in  very 
frequent  intercourse  with.the  prisoner  ; that  he  had  become 
intimately  acquainted  with  his  character  and  views  of  life, 
and  his  conduct  with  respect  to  the  election,  and  that  these 
were  totally  inconsistent  with  any  other  supposition  than  his 
being  involved  in  the  riot,  and  his  fatal  encounter  with  the 
constable,  were  due  to  the  calamitous  failure  of  a bold  but 
good  purpose.  He  stated  further  that  he  had  been  present 
when  an  interview  had  occurred  in  his  own  house  between 
the  prisoner  and  Mr.  Harold  Transome,  who  was  then  can- 
vassing for  the  representation  of  North  Loamshire.  That 
the  object  of  the  prisoner  in  seeking  this  interview  had  been 
to  inform  Mr.  Transome  of  treating  given  in  his  name  to  the 
workmen  in  the  pits  and  on  the  canal  at  Sproxton,  and  to 
remonstrate  against  its  continuance;  the  prisoner|fearing  that 
disturbance  and  mischief  might  result  from  what  he  believed 
to  be  the  end  toward  which  this  treating  was  directed — 
namely,  the  presence  of  these  men  on  the  occasions  of  the 
nomination  and  polling.  Several  times  after  this  interview, 
Mr.  Lyon  said,  he  had  heard  Felix  Holt  recur  to  the  subject 
therein  discussed  with  expressions  of  grief  and  anxiety.  He 
himself  was  in  the  habit  of  visiting  Sproxton  in  his  ministe- 
rial capacity:  he  knew  fully  what  the  prisoner  had  done  there 
in  order  to  found  a night  school,  and  was  certain  that  the 
prisoner’s  interest  in  the  workingmen  of  that  district  turned 
entirely  on  the  possibility  of  converting  them  somewhat  to 
habits  of  soberness  and  to  a due  care  for  the  instruction  of 
their  children.  Finally,  he  stated  that  the  prisoner,  in  com- 
pliance with  his  request,  had  been  present  at  Duffield  on  the 
day  of  the  nomination,  and  had  on  his  return  expressed  him- 
self with  strong  indignation  concerning  the  employment  c.f 
the  Sproxton  men  on  that  occasion,  and  what  he  called  the 
wickedness  of  hiring  blind  violence. 

The  quaint  appearance  and  manner  of  the  little  Dissent- 
ing minister  could  not  fail  to  stimulate  the  peculiar  wit  of 


THE  RADICAL. 


391 

the  bar.  He  was  subjected  to  a troublesome  cross-examina- 
tion,which  he  bore  with  wide-eyed  shortsighted  quietude  and 
absorption  in  the  duty  of  truthful  response.  On  being  asked 
rather  sneeringly,  if  the  prisoner  was  not  one  of  his  flock  ? 
he  answered,  in  that  deeper  tone  which  made  one  of  the  most 
effective  transitions  of  his  varying  voice — 

“ Nay — would  to  God  he  were!  I should  then  feel  that 
the  great  virtues  and  the  pure  life  I have  beheld  in  him  were 
a witness  to  the  efficacy  of  the  faith  I believe  in  and  the 
discipline  of  the  Church  whereunto  I belong/' 

Perhaps  it  required  a larger  power  of  comparison  than  was 
possessed  by  any  of  that  audience  to  appreciate  the  moral 
elevation  of  an  Independent  minister  who  could  utter  those 
words.  Nevertheless  there  was  a murmur  which  was  clearly 
one  of  sympathy. 

The  next  witness,  and  the  one  on  whom  the  interest  of 
the  spectators  was  chiefly  concentrated,  was  Harold  Tram 
some.  There  was  a decided  predominance  of  Tory  feeling 
in  the  Court,  and  the  human  disposition  to  enjoy  the  inflic- 
tion of  a little  punishment  on  an  opposite  party,  was  in  this 
instance,  of  a Tory  complexion.  Harold  was  keenly  alive 
to  this,  and  to  everything  else  that  might  prove  disagreeable 
to  him  in  his  having  to  appear  in  the  witness-box.  But  he 
was  not  likely  to  lose  his  self-possession,  or  to  fail  in  adjust- 
ing himself  gracefully,  under  conditions  which  most  men 
would  find  it  difficult  to  carry  without  awkwardness.  He 
had  generosity  and  candor  enough  to  bear  Felix  Holt's  proud 
rejection  of  his  advances  without  any  petty  resentment ; he 
had  all  the  susceptibilities  of  a gentleman  ; and  these 
moral  qualities  gave  the  right  direction  to  his  acumen,  in 
judging  of  the  behavior  that  would  best  secure  his  dignity. 
Everything  requiring  self-command  was  easier  to  him  because 
of  Esther’s  presence  ; for  her  admiration  was  just  then  the 
object  which  this  well-tanned  man  of  the  world  had  it  most 
at  heart  to  secure. 

When  he  entered  the  witness-box  he  was  much  admired  by 
the  ladies  amongst  the  audience,  many  of  whom  sighed  a 
little  at  the  thought  of  his  wrong  course  in  politics.  He 
certainly  looked  like  a handsome  portrait  by  Sir  Thomas 
Lawrence,  in  which  that  remarkable  artist  had  happily  omit- 
ted the  usual  excess  of  honeyed  blandness  mixed  with 
alert  intelligence,  which  is  hardly  compatible  with  the  state 
of  man  out  of  paradise.  He  stood  not  far  off  Felix;  and  the 
two  Radicals  certainly  made  a striking  contrast,  Felix;  might 


392 


FELIX  HOLT, 


have  come  from  the  hands  of  a sculptor  in  the  later  Roman 
period,  when  the  plastic  impulse  was  stirred  by  the  grandeur 
of  barbaric  forms — when  rolled  collars  were  not  yet  con- 
ceived, and  satin  stocks  were  not. 

Harold  Transome  declared  he  had  had  only  one  interview 
with  the  prisoner:  it  was  the  interview  referred  toby  the 
previous  witness,  in  whose  presence  and  in  whose  house  it 
was  begun.  The  interview",  however,  was  continued  beyond 
the  observation  of  Mr.  Lyon.  The  prisoner  and  himself 
quitted  the  Dissenting  minister’s  house  in  Malthouse  Yard 
together,  and  proceeded  to  the  office  of  Mr.  Jermyn,  who 
was  then  conducting  electioneering  business  on  his  behalf. 
His  object  was  to  comply  with  Holt’s  remonstrance  by  en- 
quiring into  the  alleged  proceedings  at  Sproxton,  and,  if 
possible,  to  put  a stop  to  them.  Holt’s  language,  both  in 
the  Malthouse  Yard  and  in  the  attorney’s  office,  was  strong: 
he  was  evidently  indignant,  and  his  indignation  turned  on 
the  danger  of  employing  ignorant  men  excited  by  drink  on  an 
occasion  of  popular  concourse.  He  believed  that  Holt’s 
sole  motive  was  the  prevention  of  disorder,  and  what  he 
considered  the  demoralization  of  the  workmen  by  treating. 
The  event  had  certainly  justified  his  remonstrances.  He 
had  not  had  any  subsequent  opportunities  of  observing  the 
prisoner;  but  if  any  reliance  was  to  be  placed  on  a rational 
conclusion,  it  must,  he  thought,  be  plain  that  the  anxiety 
thus  manifested  by  Holt  was  a guarantee  of  the  statement 
he  had  made  as  to  his  motives  on  the  day  of  the  riot.  His 
entire  impression  from  Holt’s  manner  in  that  single  inter- 
view was  that  he  was  a moral  and  political  enthusiast,  who, 
if  he  sought  to  coerce  others,  would  seek  to  coerce  them 
into  a difficult,  and  perhaps  impracticable,  scrupulosity. 

Harold  spoke  wTith  as  noticeable  directness  and  emphasis, 
as  if  what  he  said  could  have  no  reaction  on  himself.  He 
had  of  course  not  entered  unnecessarily  into  what  occurred 
in  Jermyn’s  office.  But  now  he  was  subjected  to  a cross- 
examination  on  this  subject,  which  gave  rise  to  some  sub- 
dued shrugs,  smiles,  and  winks,  among  county  gentlemen. 

The  questions  were  directed  so  as  to  bring  out,  if  possible, 
some  indication  that  Felix  Holt  was  moved  to  his  remon- 
strance by  personal  resentment  against  the  political  agents 
concerned  in  setting  on  foot  the  treating  at  Sproxton,  but 
such  questioning  is  a sort  of  target-shooting  that  sometimes 
hits  about  widely.  The  cross-examining  counsel  had  close 
connections  among  the  Tories  of  Loamshire,  and  enjoyed 


THE  RADICAL. 


393 


his  business  to-day.  Under  the  fire  of  various  questions 
about  Jermyn  and  the  agent  employed  by  him  at  Sproxton, 
Harold  got  warm,  and  in  one  of  his  replies  said,  with  rapid 
sharpness — 

“ Mr.  Jermyn  was  my  agent  then,  not  now  : I have  no 
longer  any  but  hostile  relations  with  him.” 

The  sense  that  he  had  shown  a slight  heat  would  have 
vexed  Harold  more  if  he  had  not  got  some  satisfaction  out 
of  the  thought  that  Jermyn  heard  those  words.  He  recovered 
his  good  temper  quickly,  and  when,  subsequently,  the  ques- 
tion came — 

“ You  acquiesced  in  the  treating  of  the  Sproxton  men,  as 
necessary  to  the  efficient  working  of  the  reformed  constitu- 
ency ? ” Harold  replied,  with  quiet  fluency — 

“ Yes  ; on  my  return  to  England,  before  I put  up  for 
North  Loamshire,  I got  the  best  advice  from  practised  agents, 
both  Whig  and  Tory.  They  all  agreed  as  to  electioneering 
measures.” 

The  next  witness  was  Michael  Brincey,  otherwise  Mike 
Brindle,  who  gave  evidence  of  the  sayings  and  doings  of  the 
prisoner  among  the  Sproxton  men.  Mike  declared  that 
Felix  went  u uncommon  again’  drink,  and  pitch-and-toss, 
and  quarrelling,  and  sich,”  and  was  “ all  for  schooling  and 
bringing  up  the  little  chaps”;  but  on  being  cross-examined,  he 
admitted  that  he  “ couldn’t  give  much  account  ” ; that  Felix 
did  talk  again’  idle  folks,  whether  poor  or  rich,  and  that 
most  like  he  meant  the  rich,  who  had  “a  rights  to  be  idle,” 
which  was  what  he,  Mike,  liked  himself  sometimes,  though 
for  the  most  part  he  was  “ a hard-working  butty.”  On 
being  checked  for  this  superfluous  allegation  of  his  own 
theory  and  practice,  Mike  became  timidly  conscious  that 
answering  was  a great  mystery  beyond  the  reach  of  a butty’s 
soul,  and  began  to  err  from  defect  instead  of  excess.  How- 
ever, he  reasserted  that  what  Felix  most  wanted  was,  “ to  get 
’em  to  set  up  a school  for  the  little  chaps.” 

With  the  two  succeeding  witnesses,  who  swore  to  the  fact 
that  Felix  had  tried  to  lead  the  mob  along  Hobb’s  Lane  in- 
stead of  toward  the  Manor,  and  to  the  violently  threatening 
character  of  fucker’s  attack  on  him,  the  case  for  the  defence 
was  understood  to  close. 

Meanwhile  Esther  had  been  looking  on  and  listening  with 
growing  misery,  in  the  sense  that  all  had  not  been  said  which 
might  have  been  said  on  behalf  of  Felix.  If  it  was  the  jury 
who  were  to  be  acted  on,  she  argued  to  herself,  there  might 


394 


FELIX  HOLT, 


have  been  an  impression  made  on  their  feelings  which  would 
determine  their  verdict.  Was  it  not  constantly  said  and 
seen  that  juries  pronounced  Guilty  or  Not  Guilty  from  sym- 
pathy for  or  against  the  accused  ? She  was  too  inexperi- 
enced to  check  her  own  argument  by  thoroughly  represent- 
ing to  herself  the  course  of  things  : how  the  counsel  for  the 
prosecution  would  reply,  and  how  the  judge  would  sum  up, 
with  the  object  of  cooling  down  sympathy  into  deliberation. 
What  she  had  painfully  pressing  on  her  inward  vision  was 
that  the  trial  was  coming  to  an  end,  and  that  the  voice  of 
right  and  truth  had  not  been  strong  enough. 

When  a woman  feels  purely  and  nobly,  that  ardor  of  hers 
which  breaks  through  formulas  too  rigorously  urged  on  men 
by  daily  practical  needs,  makes  one  of  her  most  precious  in- 
fluences : she  is  the  added  impulse  that  shatters  the  stiffen- 
ing crust  of  cautious  experience.  Her  inspired  ignorance 
gives  a sublimity  to  actions  so  incongruously  simple,  that 
otherwise  they  would  make  men  smile.  Some  of  that  ardor 
which  has  flashed  out  and  illuminated  all  poetry  and  history 
was  burning  to-day  in  the  bosom  of  sweet  Esther  Lyon.  In 
this,  at  least,  her  woman’s  lot  was  perfect  : that  the  man  she 
loved  was  her  hero  ; that  her  woman’s  passion  and  her  rev- 
erence for  rarest  goodness  rushed  together  in  an  undivided 
current.  And  to-day  they  were  making  one  danger,  one 
terror,  one  irresistible  impulse  for  her  heart.  Her  feelings 
were  growing  into  a necessity  for  action,  rather  than  a re- 
solve to  act.  She  could  not  support  the  thought  that  the 
trial  would  come  to  an  end,  that  sentence  would  be  passed 
on  Felix,  and  that  all  the  while  something  had  been  omitted 
which  might  have  been  said  for  him.  There  had  been  no 
witness  to  tell  what  had  been  his  behavior  and  state  of  mind 
just  before  the  riot.  She  must  do  it.  It  was  possible. 
There  was  time.  But  not  too  much  time.  All  other  agita- 
tion became  merged  in  eagerness  not  to  let  the  moment 
escape.  The  last  witness  was  being  called.  Harold  Tran- 
some  had  not  been  able  to  get  back  to  her  on  leaving  the 
witness-box,  but  Mr.  Lingon  was  close  by  her.  With  firm 
quickness  she  said  to  him — 

“ Pray  tell  the  attorney  that  I have  evidence  to  give  for 
fche  prisoner — lose  no  time.” 

“ Do  you  know  what  you  are  going  to  say,  my  dear  ? ” 
said  Mr.  Lingon,  looking  at  her  in  astonishment. 

“Yes — I entreat  you,  for  God’s  sake,”  said  Esther,  in  that 
low  tone  of  urgent  beseeching  which  is  equivalent  to  a cry; 


THE  RADICAL.  395 

and  with  a look  of  appeal  more  penetrating  still,  “ I would 
rather  die  than  not  do  it.” 

The  old  rector,  always  leaning  to  the  good-natured  view 
of  things,  felt  chiefly  that  there  seemed  to  be  an  additional 
chance  for  the  poor  fellow  who  had  got  himself  into  trouble. 
He  disputed  no  farther,  but  went  to  the  attorney. 

Before  Harold  was  aware  of  Esther’s  intention  she  was 
on  her  way  to  the  witness-box.  When  she  appeared  there, 
it  was  as  if  a vibration,  quick  as  light,  had  gone  through  the 
Court  and  had  shaken  Felix  himself,  who  had  hitherto 
seemed  impassive.  A sort  of  a gleam  seemed  to  shoot 
across  his  face,  and  any  one  close  to  him  would  have  seen 
that  his  hand,  which  lay  on  the  edge  of  the  dock,  trembled. 

At  the  first  moment  Harold  was  startled  and  alarmed  ; the 
next,  he  felt  delight  in  Esther’s  beautiful  aspect,  and  in  the 
admiration  of  the  Court.  There  was  no  blush  on  her  face  : 
she  stood,  divested  of  all  personal  considerations  whether 
of  vanity  or  shyness.  Her  clear  voice  sounded  as  it  might 
have  done  if  she  had  been  making  a confession  of  faith. 
She  began  and  went  on  without  query  or  interruption. 
Every  face  looked  grave  and  respectful. 

“ I am  Esther  Lyon,  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Lyon,  the  Inde- 
pendent minister  at  Treby,  who  has  been  one  of  the  wit- 
nesses for  the  prisoner.  I know  Felix  Holt  well.  On  the 
day  of  the  election  at  Treby,  when  I had  been  much  alarmed 
by  the  noises  that  reached  me  from  the  main  street,  Felix 
Holt  came  to  call  upon  me.  He  knew  that  my  father  was 
away,  and  he  thought  that  I should  be  alarmed  by  the 
sounds  of  disturbance.  It  was  about  the  middle  of  the  day, 
and  he  came  to  tell  me  that  the  disturbance  was  quieted, 
and  that  the  streets  were  nearly  emptied.  But  he  said  he 
feared  that  the  men  would  collect  again  after  drinking,  and 
that  something  worse  might  happen  later  in  the  day.  And 
he  was  in  much  sadness  at  this  thought.  He  stayed  a little 
while,  and  then  he  left  me.  He  was  very  melancholy.  His 
mind  was  full  of  great  resolutions  that  came  from  his  kind 
feeling  toward  others.  It  was  the  last  thing  he  would  have 
done  to  join  in  riot  or  to  hurt  any  man,  if  he  could  have  helped 
it.  His  nature  is  very  noble  ; he  is  tender-hearted;  he  could 
never  have  had  any  intention  that  was  not  brave  and  good.” 

There  was  something  so  naive  and  beautiful  in  this  action 
of  Esther’s,  that  it  conquered  every  low  or  petty  suggestion 
even  in  the  commonest  minds.  The  three  men  in  that 
assembly  who  knew  her  best — even  her  father  and  Felix 


396 


FELIX  HOLT, 


Holt — felt  a thrill  of  surprise  mingling  with  their  admira- 
tion. This  bright,  delicate,  beautiful-shaped  thing  that 
seemed  most  like  a toy  or  ornament — some  hand  had  touched 
the  chords,  and  there  came  forth  music  that  brought  tears. 
Half  a year  before,  Esther’s  dread  of  being  ridiculous  spread 
over  the  surface  of  her  life  ; but  the  depth  below  was  sleeping. 

Harold  Transome  was  ready  to  give  her  his  hand  and  lead 
her  back  to  her  place.  When  she  was  there,  Felix,  for  the 
first  time,  could  not  help  looking  toward  her,  and  their  eyes 
met  in  one  solemn  glance. 

Afterward  Esther  found  herself  unable  to  listen  so  as  to 
form  any  judgment  on  what  she  heard.  The  acting  out  of 
that  strong  impulse  had  exhausted  every  energy.  There 
was  a brief  pause,  filled  with  a murmur,  a buzz,  and  much 
coughing.  The  audience  generally  felt  as  if  dull  weather 
was  setting  in  again.  And  under  those  auspices  the  counsel 
for  the  prosecution  got  up  to  make  his  reply.  Esther’s  deed 
had  its  effect  beyond  the  momentary  one,  but  the  effect  was 
not  visible  in  the  rigid  necessities  of  legal  procedure.  The 
counsel’s  duty  of  restoring  all  unfavorable  facts  to  due  prom- 
inence in  the  minds  of  the  jurors,  had  its  effect  altogether 
reinforced  by  the  summing-up  of  the  judge.  Even  the  bare 
discernment  of  facts,  much  more  their  arrangement  with  a 
view  to  inferences,  must  carry  a bias  : human  impartiality, 
whether  judicial  or  not,  can  hardly  escape  being  more  or 
less  loaded.  It  was  not  that  the  judge  had  severe  intentions  ; 
it  was  only  that  he  saw  with  severity.  The  conduct  of  Felix 
was  not  such  as  inclined  him  to  indulgent  consideration, 
and,  in  his  directions  to  the  jury,  that  mental  attitude  neces- 
sarily told  on  the  light  in  which  he  placed  the  homicide. 
Even  to  many  in  the  Court  who  were  not  constrained  by 
judicial  duty,  it  seemed  that  though  this  high  regard  felt  for 
the  prisoner  by  his  friends,  and  especially  by  a generous- 
hearted  woman,  was  very  pretty,  such  conduct  as  his  was 
not  the  less  dangerous  and  foolish,  and  assaulting  and  killing 
a constable  was  not  the  less  an  offence  to  be  regarded  with- 
out leniency. 

Esther  seemed  now  so  tremulous,  and  looked  so  ill,  that 
Harold  begged  her  to  leave  the  Court  with  his  mother  and 
Mr.  Lingon.  He  would  come  and  tell  her  the  issue.  But 
she  said,  quietly,  that  she  would  rather  stay  ; she  was  only  a 
little  overcome  by  the  exertion  of  speaking.  She  was 
inwardly  resolved  to  see  Felix  to  the  last  moment  before  he 
left  the  Court, 


THE  RADICAL. 


397 


Though  she  could  not  follow  the  address  of  the  counsel 
or  the  judge,  she  had  a keen  ear  for  what  was  brief  and 
decisive.  She  heard  the  verdict,  “ Guilty  of  manslaughter.” 
And  every  word  uttered  by  the  judge  in  pronouncing  sen- 
tence fell  upon  her  like  an  unforgetable  sound  that  would 
come  back  in  dreaming  and  in  waking.  She  had  her  eyes  on 
Felix,  and  at  the  words,  “ Imprisonment  for  four  years,”  she 
saw  his  lip  tremble.  But  otherwise  he  stood  firm  and  calm. 

Esther  gave  a start  from  her  seat.  Her  heart  swelled 
with  a horrible  sensation  of  pain  ; but,  alarmed  lest  she 
should  lose  her  self-command,  she  grasped  Mrs.  Transome’s 
hand,  getting  some  strength  from  that  human  contact. 

Esther  saw  that  Felix  had  turned.  She  could  no  longer  see 
his  face.  “ Yes,”  she  said,  drawing  down  her  veil,  “ let  us  go/' 

CHAPTER  XLVII. 

The  devil  tempts  us  not — ’tis  we  tempt  him, 

Beckoning  his  skill  with  opportunity. 

The  more  permament  effect  of  Esther’s  action  in  the  trial 
was  visible  in  a meeting  which  took  place  the  next  day  in 
the  principal  room  of  the  White  Hart  of  Loamford.  To  the 
magistrates  and  other  county  gentlemen  who  were  drawn 
together  about  noon,  some  of  the  necessary  impulse  might 
have  been  lacking  but  for  that  stirring  of  heart  in  certain 
just-spirited  men  and  good  fathers  among  them,  which  had 
been  raised  to  a high  pitch  of  emotion  by  Esther’s  maidenly 
fervor.  Among  these  one  of  the  foremost  was  Sir  Maximus 
Debarry,  who  had  come  to  the  assizes  with  a mind,  as  usual, 
slightly  rebellious  under  an  influence  which  he  never  ulti- 
mately resisted — the  influence  of  his  son.  Philip  Debarry 
himself  was  detained  in  London,  but  in  his  correspondence 
with  his  father  he  had  urged  him,  as  well  as  his  uncle 
Augustus,  to  keep  eyes  and  interest  awake  on  the  subject  of 
Felix  Holt,  whom,  from  all  the  knowledge  of  the  case  he 
had  been  able  to  obtain,  he  was  inclined  to  believe  pecu- 
liarly unfortunate  rather  than  guilty.  Philip  had  said  he  was 
the  more  anxious  that  his  family  should  intervene  benevo- 
lently in  this  affair,  if  it  were  possible,  because  he  understood 
that  Mr.  Lyon  took  the  young  man’s  case  particularly  to 
heart,  and  he  should  always  regard  himself  as  obliged  to  the 
old  preacher.  At  this  superfineness  of  consideration  Sir 
Maximus  had  vented  a few  “ pshaws  ! ” and,  in  relation  to 
the  whole  affair,  had  grumbled  that  Phil  was  always  setting 
him  to  do  he  didn’t  know  what — always  seeming  to  turn 


39§ 


FELIX  HOLT, 


nothing  into  something  by  dint  of  words  which  hadn’t  so 
much  substance  as  a mote  behind  them.  Nevertheless  he 
was  coerced  ; and  in  reality  he  was  willing  to  do  anything 
fair  or  good-natured  which  had  a handle  that  his  under- 
standing could  lay  hold  of.  His  brother,  the  rector,  desired 
to  be  rigorously  just  ; but  he  had  come  to  Loamford  with  a 
severe  opinion  concerning  Felix,  thinking  that  some  sharp 
punishment  might  be  a wholesome  check  on  the  career  of  a 
young  man  disposed  to  rely  too  much  on  his  own  crude  devices. 

Before  the  trial  commenced,  Sir  Maximus  had  naturally 
been  one  of  those  who  had  observed  Esther  with  curiosity, 
owing  to  the  report  of  her  inheritance,  and  her  probable 
marriage  to  his  once  welcome  but  now  exasperating  neigh- 
bor, Harold  Transome  ; and  he  had  made  the  emphatic 
comment — “ A fine  girl ! something  thoroughbred  in  the  look 
of  her.  Too  good  for  a Radical  ; that’s  all  I have  to  say.” 
But  during  the  trial  Sir  Maximus  was  wrought  into  a state 
of  sympathetic  ardor  that  needed  no  fanning.  As  soon  as  he 
could  take  his  brother  by  the  buttonhole,  he  said — 

“ I tell  you  what,  Gus  ! we  must  exert  ourselves  to  get  a 
pardon  for  this  young  fellow.  Confound  it  ! what’s  the  use 
of  mewing  him  up  for  four  years  ? Example  ? Nonsense.  Will 
there  be  a man  knocked  down  the  less  for  it  ? That  girl 
made  me  cry.  Depend  upon  it,  whether  she’s  going  to 
marry  Transome  or  not,  she’s  been  fond  of  Holt — in  her 
poverty,  you  know.  She’s  a modest,  brave,  beautiful  woman. 
I’d  ride  a steeple-chase,  old  as  I am,  to  gratify  her  feel- 
ings. Hang  it  ! the  fellow’s  a good  fellow  if  she  thinks  so. 
And  he  threw  out  a fine  sneer,  I thought,  at  the  Radical 
candidate.  Depend  upon  it,  he’s  a good  fellow  at  bottom.” 
The  rector  had  not  exactly  the  same  kind  of  ardor,  nor 
was  he  open  too  precisely  that  process  of  proof  which  ap- 
peared to  have  convinced  Sir  Maximus  ; but  he  had  been  so 
far  influenced  as  to  be  inclined  to  unite  in  an  effort  on  the 
side  of  mercy,  observing  also  that  he  “ knew  Phil  would  be 
on  that  side.”  And  by  the  co-operation  of  similar  move- 
ments in  the  minds  of  other  men  whose  names  were  of  weight, 
a meeting  had  been  determined  on  to  consult  about  getting 
up  a memorial  to  the  Home  Secretary  on  behalf  of  Felix 
Holt.  His  case  had  never  had  the  sort  of  significance  that 
could  rouse  political  partisanship  ; and  such  interest  as 
was  now  felt  in  him  was  still  more  unmixed  with  that  induce- 
ment. The  gentlemen  who  gathered  in  the  room  at  the 
White  Hart  were — not  as  the  large  imagination  of  the  North 


THE  RADICAL. 


399 


Loamshire  Herald  suggested,  “ of  all  shades  of  political 
opinion,"  but — of  as  many  shades  as  were  to  be  found  among 
the  gentlemen  of  that  county. 

Harold  Transome  had  been  energetically  active  in  bring- 
ing about  this  meeting.  Over  and  above  the  stings  of  con- 
science and  a determination  to  act  up  to  the  level  of  all 
recognized  honorableness,  he  had  the  powerful  motive  of 
desiring  to  do  what  would  satisfy  Esther.  His  gradually 
heightened  perception  that  she  had  a strong  feeling  toward 
Felix  Holt  had  not  made  him  uneasy.  Harold  had  a con-  _ 
viction  that  might  have  seemed  like  fatuity  if  it  had  not  been 
that  he  saw  the  effect  he  produced  on  Esther  by  the  light  of 
his  opinions  about  women  in  general.  The  conviction  was, 
that  Felix  Holt  could  not  be  his  rival  in  any  formidable 
sense.  Esther’s  admiration  for  this  eccentric  young  man 
was,  he  thought,  a moral  enthusiasm,  a romantic  fervor, 
which  was  one  among  those  many  attractions  quite  novel  in 
his  own  experience  ; her  distress  about  the  trouble  of  one 
who  had  been  a familiar  object  in  her  former  home,  was  no 
more  than  naturally  followed  from  a tender  woman’s  com- 
passion. The  place  young  Holt  had  held  in  her  regard  had 
necessarily  changed  its  relations  now  that  her  lot  was  so 
widely  changed.  It  is  undeniable,  that  what  most  conduced 
to  the  quieting  nature  of  Harold’s  conclusions  was  the  influ- 
ence on  his  imagination  of  the  more  or  less  detailed  reasons 
that  Felix  Holt  was  a watchmaker,  that  his  home  and  dress 
were  of  a certain  quality,  that  his  person  and  manners — that, 
in  short  (for  Harold,  like  the  rest  of  us,  had  many  impres- 
sions which  saved  him  the  trouble  of  distinct  ideas),  Felix 
Holt  was  not  the  sort  of  a man  a woman  would  be  in  love 
with  when  she  was  wooed  by  Harold  Transome. 

Thus,  he  was  sufficiently  at  rest  on  this  point  not  to  be 
exercising  any  painful  self-conquest  in  acting  as  the  zealous 
advocate  of  Felix  Holt’s  cause  with  all  persons  worth  in- 
fluencing ; but  it  was  by  no  direct  intercourse  between  him 
and  Sir  Maximus  that  they  found  themselves  in  co-opera- 
tion, for  the  old  baronet  would  not  recognize  Harold  by 
more  than  the  faintest  bow,  and  Harold  was  not  a man  to 
expose  himself  to  a rebuff.  Whatever  he  in  his  inmost  soul 
regarded  as  nothing  more  than  a narrow  prejudice,  he  could 
defy,  not  with  airs  of  importance,  but  with  easy  indifference. 
He  could  bear  most  things  good-humoredly  where  he  felt 
that  he  had  the  superiority.  The  object  of  the  meeting  was 
discussed,  and  the  memorial  agreed  upon  without  any  clash- 


4oo 


FELIX  HOLT, 


ing.  Mr.  Lingon  was  gone  home,  but  it  was  expected  that 
his  concurrence  and  signature  would  be  given,  as  well  as 
those  of  other  gentlemen  who  were  absent.  The  business 
gradually  reached  that  stage  at  which  the  concentration  of 
interest  ceases — when  the  attention  of  all  but  a few  who  are 
more  practically  concerned  drops  off  and  disperses  itself  in 
private  chat,  and  there  is  no  longer  any  particular  reason 
why  everybody  stays  except  that  everybody  is  there.  The 
room  was  rather  a long  one,  and  invited  to  a little  move- 
ment : one  gentleman  drew  another  aside  to  speak  in  an 
undertone  about  Scotch  bullocks  ; another  had  something 
to  say  about  the  North  Loamshire  hunt  to  a friend  who  was 
the  reverse  of  good-looking,  but  who,  nevertheless,  while 
listening,  showed  his  strength  of  mind  by  giving  a severe 
attention  also  to  his  full-length  reflection  in  the  handsome 
tall  mirror  that  filled  the  space  between  two  windows.  And 
in  this  way  the  groups  were  continually  shifting. 

But  in  the  meantime  there  were  moving  toward  this  room 
at  the  White  Hart  the  footsteps  of  a person  whose  presence 
had  not  been  invited,  and  who,  very  far  from  being  drawn 
thither  by  the  belief  that  he  would  be  welcome,  knew  well 
that  his  entrance  would,  to  one  person  at  least,  be  bitterly 
disagreeable.  They  were  the  footsteps  of  Mr.  Jermyn, 
whose  appearance  that  morning  was  not  less  comely  and  less 
carefully  tended  than  usual,  but  who  was  suffering  the  tor- 
ment of  a compressed  rage,  which,  if  not  impotent  to  inflict 
pain  on  another,  was  impotent  to  avert  evil  from  himself. 
After  his  interview  with  Mrs.  Transome  there  had  been  for 
some  reasons  a delay  of  positive  procedures  against  him  by 
Harold,  of  which  delay  Jermyn  had  twice  availed  himself  ; 
first,  to  seek  an  interview  with  Harold,  and  then  to  send 
him  a letter.  The  interview  had  been  refused  ; and  the 
letter  had  been  returned,  with  the  statement  that  no  com- 
munication could  take  place  except  through  Harold’s  law- 
yers. And  yesterday  Johnson  had  brought  Jermyn  the  in- 
formation that  he  would  quickly  hear  of  the  proceedings  in 
Chancery  being  resumed:  the  watch  Johnson  kept  in  town 
had  given  him  secure  knowledge  on  this  head.  A doomed 
animal,  with  every  issue  earthed  up  except  that  where  its 
enemy  stands,  must,  if  it  has  teeth  and  fierceness,  try  its  one 
chance  without  delay.  And  a man  may  reach  a point  in  his 
life  in  which  his  impulses  are  not  distinguished  from  those 
of  a hunted  brute  by  any  capability  of  scruples.  Our  selfish- 
ness is  so  robust  and  many-clutching,  that,  well  encouraged, 


THE  RADICAL.  40t 

it  easily  devours  all  sustenance  away  froni  our  poor  little 
scruples. 

Since  Harold  would  not  give  Jermyn  access  to  him,  that 
vigorous  attorney  was  resolved  to  take  it.  He  knew  all 
about  the  meeting  at  the  White  Hart-,  and  he  was  going 
thither  with  the  determination  of  accosting  Harold. , He 
thought  he  knew  what  he  should  say,  and  the  tone  in  which 
he  should  say  it.  It  would  be  a vague  intimation,  carrying 
the  effect  of  A threat,  which  should  compel  Harold  to  give 
him  a private  interview*  To  any  counter-consideration  that 
presented  itself  in  his  mind- — to  anything  that  an  imagined 
voice  might  say — the  imagined  answer  arose,  u That’s  all 
very  fine,  but  I’m  not  going  to  be  ruined  if  I can  help  it — * 
least  of  all,  ruined  in  that  way.”  Shall  we  call  it  degenera- 
tion or  gradual  development — this  effect  of  thirty  additional 
winters  on  the  soft-glancing,  versifying  young  Jermyn  ? 

When  Jermyn  entered  the  room  at  the  White  Hart  he  did 
not  immediately  see  Harold.  The  door  was  at  the  extrem- 
ity of  the  room,  and  the  view  was  obstructed  by  groups  of 
gentlemen  with  figures  broadened  by  overcoats.  His  entrance 
excited  no  particular  observation  : several  persons  had  come 
in  late.  Only  one  or  two,  who  knew  Jermyn  well,  were  not 
too  much  preoccupied  to  have  a glancing  remembrance  of 
what  had  been  chatted  about  freely  the  day  before— Harold’s 
irritated  reply  about  his  agent,  from  the  witness-box.  Re- 
ceiving and  giving  a slight  nod  here  and  there,  Jermyn 
pushed  his  way,  looking  round  keenly,  until  he  saw  Harold 
standing  near  the  other  end  of  the  room.  The  solicitor  who 
had  acted  for  Felix  was  just  then  speaking  ,to  him,  bu;t  hav- 
ing put  a paper  into  his  hand  turned  away  ; and  Harold, 
standing  isolated,  though  at  no  great  distance  from  .others, 
bent  his  eyes  on  the  paper.  He  looked  brilliant  that  morn- 
ing;; his  blood  was  flowing  prosperously.  He  had  (come  in 
after  a ride,  and  was  additionally  brightened  by  rapid  talk 
and  the  excitement  of  seeking  to  impress  himself  favorably, 
<or  at  least  powerfully,  on  the  minds  of  neighbors  nearer  or 
more  remote.  He  had  just  that  amount  of  flush  which  indi- 
cates that  life  is  more  .enjoyable  than  usual.;  and  as  he  stood 
with  his  left  hand  .caressing  his  whisker,  and  his  right  hold- 
ing the  paper  and  .his  riding-whip,  his  .dark  eyes  running 
rapidly  along  the  written  lines,  and  his  lips  reposing  in  a 
curve  of  good-humor  which  had  more  happiness  in  it  than  a 
smile,  all  beholders  might  have  .seen,  that  his  mind  was  at  ease. 

Jermyn  walked  quickly  and  quietly, close  ,pp  to  him.  The 


402 


FELIX  HOLT 


two  men  were  of  the  same  height,  and  before  Harold  looke 
round  Jermyn’s  voice  was  saying,  close  to  his  ear,  not  in 
whisper,  but  in  a hard,  incisive,  disrespectful  and  yet  n<j 
loud  tone — 

“ Mr.  Transome,  I must  speak  to  you  in  private.” 

The  sound  jarred  through  Harold  with  a sensation  all  th 
more  insufferable  because  of  the  revulsion  from  the  satisfiec 
almost  elated,  state  in  which  it  had  seized  him.  He  starte) 
and  looked  round  into  Jermyn’s  eyes.  For  an  instant,  whic 
seemed  long,  there  was  no  sound  between  them,  but  onl 
angry  hatred  gathering  in  the  two  faces.  Harold  felt  hirr 
self  going  to  crush  this  insolence  : Jermyn  felt  that  he  ha 
words  within  him  that  were  fangs  to  clutch  this  obstinat 
strength,  and  wring  forth  the  blood  and  compel  submissioi 
And  Jermyn’s  impulse  was  the  more  urgent.  He  said,  in 
tone  that  was  rather  lower,  but  yet  harder  and  more  biting- 
“ You  will  repent  else — for  your  mother’s  sake.” 

At  that  sound,  quick  as  a leaping  flame,  Harold  had  struc 
Jermyn  across  the  face  with  his  whip.  The  brim  of  the  hatha 
been  a defense.  Jermyn,  a powerful  man,  had  instantly  thru: 
out  his  hand  and  clutched  Harold  hard  by  the  clothes  just  b« 
low  the  throat,  pushing  him  slightly  so  as  to  make  him  stagge 
By  this  time  everybody’s  attention  had  been  called  to  th 
end  of  the  room,  but  both  Jermyn  and  Harold  were  beyor 
being  arrested  by  any  consciousness  of  spectators. 

“ Let  me  go,  you  scoundrel ! ” said  Harold,  fiercely,  “ « 
I'll  be  the  death  of  you.” 

“ Do,”  said  Jermyn,  in  a grating  voice  ; “ I am  your  f ather 
In  the  thrust  by  which  Harold  had  been  made  to  stagg 
backward  a little,  the  two  men  had  got  very  near  the  long  mi 
ror.  They  were  both  white  ; both  had  anger  and  hatred 
theirfaces;  the  hands  of  both  were  upraised.  AsHaroldhea! 
the  last  terrible  words  he  started  at  a leaping  throb  that  we' 
through  him, and  in  the  start  turned  his  eyes  awayf  rom  Jermyr 
face.  He  turned  them  on  the  same  face  in  the  glass  with  b 
own  beside  it,  and  saw  the  hated  fatherhood  reasserted.  ' 
The  strong  man  reeled  with  a sick  faintness.  But  in  tj 
same  moment  Jermyn  released  his  hold,  and  Harold  felt  hir 
self  supported  by  the  arm.  It  was  Sir  Maximus  Deban 
who  had  taken  hold  of  him. 

“ Leave  the  room,  sir  ! ” the  baronet  said  to  Jermyn,  in 
voice  of  imperious  scorn.  “ This  is  a meeting  of  gentlemen 
“ Come,  Harold,  he  said,  in  the  old  friendly  voice,  “ con 
away  with  me.” 


THE  RADICAL. 


403 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

’Tis  law  as  steadfast  as  the  throne  of  Zeus — 

Our  days  are  heritors  of  days  gone  by. 

iEscHYLUS : Agamemnon. 

A little  after  five  o’clock  that  day,  Harold  arrived  at 
Transome  Court.  As  he  was  winding  along  the  broad  road 
of  the  park,  some  parting  gleams  of  the  March  sun  pierced 
the  trees  here  and  there,  and  threw  on  the  grass  a long  shadow 
of  himself  and  the  groom  riding,  and  illuminated  a window 
or  two  of  the  home  he  was  approaching.  But  the  bitterness 
in  his  mind  made  these  sunny  gleams  almost  as  odious  as  an 
artificial  smile.  He  wished  he  had  never  come  back  to  this 
pale  English  sunshine. 

In  the  course  of  his  eighteen  miles’  drive  Ife  had  made  up 
his  mind  what  he  would  do.  He  understood  now,  as  he  had 
never  understood  before,  the  neglected  solitariness  of  his 
mother’s  life,  the  allusions  and  innuendoes  which  had  come 
out  during  the  election.  But  with  a proud  insurrection 
against  the  hardship  of  an  ignominy  which  was  not  of  his 
own  making,  he  inwardly  said,  that  if  the  circumstances  of 
his  birth  were  such  as  to  warrant  any  man  in  regarding  his 
character  of  gentleman  with  ready  suspicion,  that  character 
should  be  the  more  strongly  asserted  in  his  conduct.  No  one 
should  be  able  to  allege  with  any  show  of  proof  that  he  had 
inherited  meanness. 

As  he  stepped  from  the  carriage  and  entered  the  hall,  there 
were  the  voice  and  the  trotting  feet  of  little  Harry  as  usual, 
and  the  rush  to  clasp  his  father’s  leg  and  make  his  joyful 
puppy-like  noises.  Harold  just  touched  the  boy’s  head,  and 
then  said  to  Dominic  in  a weary  voice — 

“ Take  the  child  away.  Ask  where  my  mother  is.” 

Mrs.  Transome,  Dominic  said,  was  up-stairs.  He  had 
seen  her  go  up  after  coming  in  from  her  walk  with  Miss  Lyon, 
and  she  had  not  come  down  again. 

Harold  throwing  off  his  hat  and  greatcoat,  went  straight 
to  his  mother’s  dressing-room.  There  was  still  a hope  in 
his  mind.  He  might  be  suffering  simply  from  a lie.  There 
is  much  misery  created  in  the  world  by  mere  mistake  or 
slander,  and  he  might  have  been  stunned  by  a lie  suggested 
by  such  slander.  He  rappecj  at  his  mother’s  door. 

Her  voice  said  immediately,  “ Come  in.” 

Mrs.  Transome  was  resting  in  her  easy-chair,  as  she  often 
did  between  an  afternoon  walk  and  dinner.  She  had  taken 


404 


FELIX  HOLT, 


off  her  walking-dress  and  wrapped  herself  in  a soft  dressing- 
gown.  She  was  neither  more  nor  less  empty  of  joy  than 
usual.  But  when  she  saw  Harold,  a dreadful  certainty  took 
possession  of  her.  It  was  as  if  a long  expected  letter,  with 
a black  seal,  had  come  at  last. 

Harold’s  face  told  her  what  to  fear  the  more  decisively, 
because  she  had  never  before  seen  it  express  a man’s  deep 
agitation.  Since  the  time  of  its  pouting  childhood  and  care- 
less youth  she  had  seen  only  the  confident  strength  and  good- 
humored  imperiousness  of  maturity.  The  last  five  hours 
had  made  a change  as  great  as  illness  makes.  Harold  looked 
as  if  he  had  been  wrestling,  and  had  had  some  terrible  blow. 
His  eyes*had  that  sunken  look  which,  because  it  is  unusual, 
.seems  to  intensify  expression. 

He  looked  at  his  mother  as  he  entered,  and  her  eyes 
'followed  him  as  he  moved,  till  he  came  and  stood  in  front  of 
Ter,  she  looking  up  at  him,  with  white  lips. 

“ Mother,”  he  said,  speaking  with  a distinct  slowness,  in 
:strange  contrast  with  his  habitual  manner,  “ tell  me  the  truth, 
ithat  I may  know  how  to  act.” 

He  paused  a moment,  and  then  said,  “ Who  is  my  father  ? ” 
She  was  mute  : her  lips  only  trembled.  Harold  stood  silent 
fox  a few  moments,  as  if  waiting.  Then  he  spoke  again. 
u He  has  said — said  it  before  others — that  he  is  my  father.” 
He  looked  still  at  his  mother.  She  seemed  as  if  age  were 
striking  her  with  a sudden  wand — as  if  her  trembling  face 
were  getting  hgggard  before  him.  She  was  mute.  But  her  eyes 
had  not  fallen  ; they  looked  up  in  helpless  misery  at  her  son. 

Her  son  turned  away  his  eyes  from  her,  and  left  her.  In 
that  moment  Harold  felt  hard  : he  could  show  no  pity.  All 
the  pride  of  his  nature  rebelled  against  his  sonship. 

CHAPTER  XLIX. 

Nay,  falter  not — ’tis  an  assured  good 
To  seek  the  noblest — ’tis  your  only  good 
Now  you  have  seen  it  ; for  that  higher  vision 
Poisons  all  meaner  choice  forevermore, 

’That  day  Esther  dined  with  old  Mr.  Transome  only. 
THarold  sent  word  that  he  was  engaged  and  had  already 
• dined,  and  Mrs.  Transome  that  she  was  feeling  ill.  Esther 
was  much  disappointed  that  any  tidings  Harold  might  have 
Brought  relating  to  Felix  were  deferred  in  this  way  ; and, 
jher  anxiety  making  her  fearful,  she  was  haunted  by  the 
Thought  that  if  there  had  been  anything  cheering  to  tell,  he 


THE  RADICAL. 


405i 


would  have  found  time  to  tell  it  without  delay.  Old  Mr.. 
Transome  went  as  usual  to  his  sofa  in  the  library  to  sleep, 
after  dinner,  and  Esther  had  to  seat  herself  in  the  small 
drawing-room,  in  a well-lit  solitude  that  was  unusually  dis- 
piriting to  her.  Pretty  as  this  room  was,  she  did  not  like  it. 
Mrs.  Transome’s  full-length  portrait,  being  the  only  picture 
there,  urged  itself  too  strongly  on  her  attention  : the  youth- 
ful brilliancy  it  represented  saddened  Esther  by  its  inevita- 
ble association  with  what  she  daily  saw  had  come  instead  of 
it — a joyless,  embittered  age.  The  sense  that  Mrs.  Tran- 
some was  unhappy,  affected  Esther  more  and  more  deeply 
as  the  growing  familiarity  which  relaxed  the  efforts  of  the 
hostess  revealed  more  and  more  the  threadbare  tissue  of  this 
majestic  lady’s  life.  Even  the  flowers  and  the  pure  sunshine 
and  the  sweet  wafers  of  Paradise  would  have  been  spoiled 
for  a young  heart,  if  the  bowered  walks  had  been  haunted 
by  an  Eve  gone  gray  with  bitter  memories  of  an  Adam  who 

had  complained.  “ The  woman she  gave  me  of  the  tree, 

and  I did  eat.”  And  many  of  us  know  how,  even  in  our 
childhood,  some  blank  discontented  face  on  the  background 
of  our  home  has  marred  our  summer  mornings.  Why  was 
it,  when  the  birds  were  singing,  when  the  fields  were  a gar- 
den, and  when  we  were  clasping  another  little  hand  just 
larger  than  our  own,  there  was  somebody  who  found  it  hard 
to  smile  ? Esther  had  got  far  beyond  that  childhood  to  a 
time  and  circumstances  when  this  daily  presence  of  elderly 
dissatisfaction  amidst  such  outward  things  as  she  had  always 
thought  must  greatly  help  to  satisfy,  awaked,  not  merely 
vague  questioning  emotion,  but  strong  determining  thought. 
And  now,  in  these  hours  since  her  return  from  Loamford, 
her  mind  was  in  that  state  of  highly-wrought  activity,  that 
large  discourse,  in  which  we  seem  to  stand  aloof  from  our 
own  life — weighing  impartially  our  own  temptations  and  the 
weak  desires  that  most  habitually  solicit  us.  “ I think  I am 
getting  that  power  Felix  wished  me  to  have  : I shall  soon 
see  strong  visions,”  she  said  to  herself,  with  a melancholy 
smile  flitting  across  her  face,  as  she  put  out  her  wax  lights 
that  she  might  get  rid  of  the  oppressive  urgency  of  walls  and 
upholstery  and  that  portrait  smiling  with  deluded  bright- 
ness, unwitting  of  the  future. 

Just  then  Dominic  came  to  say  that  Mr.  Harold  sent  his 
compliments,  and  begged  that  she  would  grant  him  an  inter- 
view in  his  study.  He  disliked  the  small  drawing-room  : if 
she  would  oblige  him  by  going  to  the  study  at  once,  he  would 


4°6 


FELIX  HOLT, 


join  her  very  soon.  Esther  went,  in  some  wonder  and  anxi- 
ety. What  she  most  feared  or  hoped  in  these  moments  re- 
lated to  Felix  Holt,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  her  that  Harold 
could  have  anything  special  to  say  to  her  that  evening  on 
other  subjects. 

Certainly  the  study  was  pleasanter  than  the  small  drawing- 
room. A quiet  light  shone  on  nothing  but  greenness  and 
dark  wood,  and  Dominic  had  placed  a delightful  chair  for 
her  opposite  to  his  master’s,  which, was  still  empty.  All  the 
little  objects  of  luxury  around  indicated  Harold’s  habitual 
occupancy  ; and  as  Esther  sat  opposite  all  these  things  along 
with  the  empty  chair  which  suggested  the  coming  presence, 
the  expectation  of  his  beseeching  homage  brought  with  it  an 
impatience  and  repugnance  which  she  had  never  felt  before. 
While  these  feelings  were  strongly  upon  her,  the  door  opened 
and  Harold  appeared. 

He  had  recovered  his  self-possession  since  his  interview 
with  his  mother  : he  had  dressed  and  was  perfectly  calm. 
He  had  been  occupied  with  resolute  thoughts,  determining 
to  do  what  he  knew  that  perfect  honor  demanded,  let  it  cost 
him  what  it  would.  It  is  true  he  had  a tacit  hope  behind, 
that  it  might  not  cost  him  what  he  prized  most  highly  : it  is 
true  he  had  a glimpse  even  of  reward  ; but  it  was  not  less 
true  that  he  would  have  acted  as  he  did  without  that  hope 
or  glimpse.  It  was  the  most  serious  moment  in  Harold 
Transome’s  life  ; for  the  first  time  the  iron  had  entered  into 
his  soul,  and  he  felt  the  hard  pressure  of  our  common  lot, 
the  yoke  of  that  mighty  resistless  destiny  laid  upon  us  by 
the  acts  of  other  men  as  well  as  our  own. 

When  Esther  looked  at  him  she  relented,  and  felt  ashamed 
of  her  gratuitous  impatience.  She  saw  that  his  mind  was  in 
some  way  burdened.  But  then  immediately  sprang  the 
dread  that  he  had  to  say  something  hopeless  about  Felix. 

They  shook  hands  in  silence,  Esther  looking  at  him  with 
anxious  surprise.  He  released  her  hand,  but  it  did  not  oc- 
cur to  her  to  sit  down,  and  they  both  continued  standing  on 
the  hearth. 

“ Don’t  let  me  alarm  you,”  said  Harold,  seeing  that  her 
face  gathered  solemnity  from  his.  “ I suppose  I carry  the  marks 
of  a past  agitation.  It  relates  entirely  to  troubles  of  my  own 
— of  my  own  family.  No  one  beyond  is  involved  in  them.” 

Esther  wondered  still  more,  and  felt  still  more  relenting. 

“But,”  said  Harold,  after  a slight  pause,  and  in  a voice 
that  was  weighted  with  new  feeling,  “ it  involves  a difference 


THE  RADICAL. 


407 


in  my  position  with  regard  to  you  ; and  it  is  on  this  point 
that  I wished  to  speak  to  you  at  once.  When  a man  sees 
what  ought  to  be  done,  he  had  better  do  it  forthwith.  He 
can’t  answer  for  himself  to-morrow.” 

While  Esther  continued  to  look  at  him,  with  eyes  widened 
by  anxious  expectation,  Harold  turned  a little,  leaned  on  the 
mantel-piece,  and  ceased  to  look  at  her  as  he  spoke. 

“ My  feelings  drag  me  another  way.  I need  not  tell  you 
that  your  regard  has  become  very  important  to  me — that  if 
our  mutual  position  had  been  different — that,  in  short,  you 
must  have  seen — if  it  had  not  seemed  to  be  a matter  of 
worldly  interest,  I should  have  told  you  plainly  already  that 
I loved  you,  and  that  my  happiness  could  be  complete  only 
if  you  would  consent  to  marry  me.” 

Esther  felt  her  heart  beginning  to  beat  painfully.  Harold’s 
voice  and  words  moved  her  so  much  that  her  own  task 
seemed  more  difficult  than  she  had  before  imagined.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  silence,  unbroken  by  anything  but  the 
clicking  of  the  fire,  had  been  long, -before  Harold  turned 
round  toward  her  again  and  said — 

“ But  to-day  I have  heard  something  that  affects  my  own 
position.  I cannot  tell  you  what  it  is.  There  is  no  need. 
It  is  not  any  culpability  of  my  own.  But  I have  not  just 
the  same  unsullied  name  and  fame  in  the  eyes  of  the  world 
around  us,  as  I believed  that  I had  when  I allowed  myself 
to  entertain  that  wish  about  you.  You  are  very  young,  en- 
tering on  a fresh  life  with  bright  prospects — you  are  worthy 
of  everything  that  is  best.  I may  be  too  vain  in  thinking  it 
was  at  all  necessary  ; but  I take  this  precaution  against  my- 
self. I shut  myself  out  from  the  chance  of  trying,  after  to- 
day, to  induce  you  to  accept  anything  which  others  may 
regard  as  specked  and  stained  by  any  obloquy,  however  slight.” 
Esther  was  keenly  touched.  With  a paradoxical  longing, 
such  as  often  happens  to  us,  she  wished  at  that  moment  that 
she  could  have  loved  this  man  with  her  whole  heart.  The 
tears  came  into  her  eyes ; she  did  not  speak,  but,  with  an 
angel’s  tenderness  in  her  face,  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  sleeve. 
Harold  commanded  himself  strongly  and  said — 

“ What  is  to  be  done  now  is,  that  we  should  proceed  at 
once  to  the  necessary  legal  measures  for  putting  you  in  pos- 
session of  your  own,  and  arranging  mutual  claims.  After 
that  I shall  probably  leave  England.” 

Esther  was  oppressed  by  an  overpowering  difficulty.  Her 
sympathy  with  Harold  at  this  moment  was  so  strong,  that  it 


408 


FELIX  HOLT, 


spread  itself  like  a mist  over  all  previous  thought  and  resolve. 
It  was  impossible  now  to  wound  him  afresh.  With  her  hand 
still  resting  on  his  arm,  she  said,  timidly — 

“ Should  you  be  urged — obliged  to  go — in  any  case  ? ” 

“ Not  in  every  case,  perhaps/’  Harold  said,  with  an  evident 
movement  of  the  blood  toward  his  face ; “at  least  not  for 
long,  not  for  always.” 

Esther  was  conscious  of  the  gleam  in  his  eyes.  With  ter- 
ror at  herself,  she  said,  in  difficult  haste,  “ I can’t  speak.  I 
can’t  say  anything  to-night.  A great  decision  has  to  be  made: 
I must  wait — till  to-morrow.” 

She  was  moving  her  hand  from  his  arm,  when  Harold  took 
it  reverentially  and  raised  it  to  his  lips.  She  turned  toward 
her  chair,  and  as  he  released  her  hand  she  sank  down  on  the 
seat  with  a sense  that  she  needed  that  support.  She  did  not 
want  to  go  away  from  Harold  yet.  All  the  while  there  was 
something  she  needed  to  know,  and  yet  she  could  not  bring 
herself  to  ask  it.  She  must  resign  herself  to  depend  entirely 
on  his  recollection  of  anything  beyond  his  own  immediate 
trial.  She  sat  helpless  under  contending  sympathies  while 
Harold  stood  at  some  distance  from  her,  feeling  more  ha- 
rassed by  weariness  and  uncertainty,  now  that  he  had  fulfilled 
his  resolve,  and  was  no  longer  under  the  excitement  of  actu- 
ally fulfilling  it. 

Esther’s  last  words  had  forbidden  his  revival  of  the  subject 
that  was  necessarily  supreme  with  him.  But  still  she  sat 
there,  and  his  mind,  busy  as  to  the  probabilities  of  her  feel- 
ing, glanced  over  all  she  had  done  and  said  in  the  later  days 
of  their  intercourse.  It  was  this  retrospect  that  led  him  to 
say  at  last — 

“ You  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  we  shall  get  a very 
powerfully  signed  memorial  to  the  Home  Secretary  about 
young  Holt.  I think  your  speaking  for  him  helped  a great- 
deal.  You  made  all  the  men  wish  what  you  wished.” 

This  was  what  Esther  had  been  yearning  to  hear  and 
dared  not  ask,  as  well  from  respect  for  Harold’s  absorption 
in  his  own  sorrow,  as  from  the  shrinking  that  belongs  to  our 
dearest  need.  The  intense  relief  of  hearing  what  she  longed 
to  hear,  affected  her  whole  frame  : her  color,  her  expression,, 
changed  as  if  she  had  been  suddenly  freed  from  some: 
torturing  constraint.  But  we  interpret  signs  of  emotion  as. 
we  interpret  other  signs*--often  quite  erroneously,  unless  we 
have  the  right  key  to  what  they  signify.  Harold  did  not 
gather  that  this  was  what  Esther  had  waited  for,  or  that  the; 


THE  RADICAL. 


409 

change  in  her  indicated  more  than  he  had  expected  her  to 
feel  at  this  illusion  to  an  unusual  act  which  she  had  done 
Under  a strong  impulse. 

Besides  the  introduction  of  a new  subject  after  very 
momentous  words  have  passed,  and  are  still  dwelling  on  the 
mind,  is  necessarily  a sort  of  concussion,  shaking  us  into  a 
new  adjustment  of  ourselves. 

It  seemed  natural  that  soon  afterward  Esther  put  out  her 
hand  and  said,  “ Good-night. *’ 

Harold  went  to  his  bedroom  on  the  same  level  with  his 
study,  thinking  of  the  morning  with  an  uncertainty  that 
dipped  on  the  side  of  hope.  This  sweet  woman,  for  whom 
he  felt  a passion  newer  than  any  he  had  expected  to  feel, 
might  possibly  make  some  hard  things  more  bearable— if  she 
loved  him.  If  not — well,  he  had  acted  so  that  he  could 
defy  anyone  to  say  he  was  not  a gentleman. 

Esther  went  up-stairs  to  her  bedroom,  thinking  that  she 
should  not  sleep  that  night.  She  set  her  light  on  a high 
stand,  and  did  not  touch  her  dress.  What  she  desired  to 
see  with  undisturbed  clearness  were  things  not  present  : 
the  rest  she  needed  was  the  rest  of  a final  choice.  It  was 
difficult.  On  each  side  there  was  renunciation. 

She  drew  up  her  blinds,  liking  to  see  the  gray  sky,  where 
there  were  some  veiled  glimmerings  of  moonlight,  and  the 
lines  of  the  forever  running  river,  and  the  bending  move- 
ment of  the  black  trees.  She  wanted  the  largeness  of  the 
world  to  help  her  thought.  This  young  creature,  who  trod 
lightly  backward  and  forward,  and  leaned  against  the 
window-frame,  and  shook  back  her  brown  curls  as  she 
looked  at  something  not  visible,  had  lived  hardly  more 
than  six  months  since  she  saw  Felix  Holt  for  the  first  time. 
But  life  is  measured  by  the  rapidity  of  change,  the  succes- 
sion of  influences  that  modify  the  being  ; and  Esther  had 
undergone  something  little  short  of  an  inward  revolution. 
The  revolutionary  struggle,  however,  was  not  quite  at  an  end. 

There  was  something  which  she  now  felt  profoundly  to  be 
the  best  thing  that  life  could  give  her.  But — if  it  was  to  be 
had  at  all — it  was  not  to  be  had  without  paying  a heavy 
price  for  it,  such  as  we  must  pay  for  all  that  is  greatly  good. 
A supreme  love,  a motive  that  gives  a sublime  rhythm  to  a 
woman’s  life,  and  exalts  habit  into  partnership  with  the  soul’s 
highest  needs,  is  not  to  be  had  where  and  how  she  wills  : 
to  know  that  high  initiation,  she  must  often  tread  where  it 
jis  hard  to  tread,  and  feel  the  chill  air,  and  watch  through 


4io 


FELIX  HOLT, 


darkness.  It  is  not  true  that  love  makes  all  things  easy  : 
it  makes  us  choose  what  is  difficult.  Esther's  previous  life 
had  brought  her  into  close  acquaintance  with  many  nega- 
tions, and  with  many  positive  ills  too,  not  of  the  acutely 
painful,  but  of  the  distasteful  sort.  What  if  she  chose  the 
hardship,  and  had  to  bear  it  alone,  with  no  strength  to  lean 
upon — no  other  better  self  to  make  a place  for  trust  and 
joy  ? Her  past  experience  saved  her  from  illusions.  She 
knew  the  dim  life  of  the  back  street,  the  contact  with  sordid 
vulgarity,  the  lack  of  refinement  for  the  senses,  the  summons 
to  a daily  task  ; and  the  gain  that  was  to  make  that  life  of 
privation  something  on  which  she  dreaded  to  turn  her  back, 
as  if  it  were  heaven — the  presence  and  the  love  of  F elix  Holt 
— was  only  a quivering  hope,  not  a certainty.  It  was  not  in 
her  woman’s  nature  that  the  hope  should  not  spring  within 
her  and  make  a strong  impulse.  She  knew  that  he  loved 
her  : had  he  not  said  how  a woman  might  help  a man  if  she 
were  worthy  ? and  if  she  proved  herself  worthy  ? But  still 
there  was  the  dread  that  after  all  she  might  find  herself  on 
the  stony  road  alone,  and  faint  and  be  weary.  Even  with 
the  fulfillment  of  her  hope,  she  knew  that  she  pledged  her- 
self to  meet  high  demands. 

And  on  the  other  side  there  was  a lot  where  everything 
seemed  easy — but  for  the  fatal  absence  of  those  feelings 
which,  now  she  had  once  known  them,  it  seemed  nothing 
less  than  a fall  and  degradation  to  do  without.  With  a 
terrible  prescience  which  a multitude  of  impressions  during 
her  stay  at  Transome  Court  had  contributed  to  form,  she 
saw  herself  in  a silken  bondage  that  arrested  all  motive,  and 
was  nothing  better  than  a well-cushioned  despair.  To  be 
restless  amidst  ease,  to  be  languid  among  all  appliances  for 
pleasure,  was  a possibility  that  seemed  to  haunt  the  rooms 
of  this  house,  and  wander  with  her  under  the  oaks  and  elms 
of  the  park.  And  Harold  Transome’s  love,  no  longer  a 
hovering  fancy  with  which  she  played,  but  become  a serious 
fact,  seemed  to  threaten  her  with  a stifling  oppression. 
The  homage  of  a man  may  be  delightful  until  he  asks  straight 
for  love,  by  which  a woman  renders  homage.  Since  she 
and  Felix  had  kissed  each  other  in  the  prison,  she  felt  as  if 
she  had  vowed  herself  away,  as  if  memory  lay  on  her  lips 
like  a seal  of  possession.  Yet  what  had  happened  that  very 
evening  had  strengthened  her  liking  for  Harold,  and  her 
care  for  all  that  regarded  him  : it  had  increased  her  repug- 
nance to  turning  him  out  of  anything  he  had  expected  to  be 


THE  RADICAL. 


411 

his,  or  to  snatching  anything  from  him  on  the  ground  of  an 
arbitrary  claim.  It  had  even  made  her  dread,  as  a coming 
pain,  the  task  of  saying  anything  to  him  that  was  not  a 
promise  of  the  utmost  comfort  under  this  newly-disclosed 
trouble  of  his. 

It  was  already  near  midnight,  but  with  these  thoughts 
succeeding  and  returning  in  her  mind  like  scenes  through 
which  she  was  living,  Esther  had  a more  intense  wakeful- 
ness than  any  she  had  known  by  day.  All  had  been  still- 
ness hitherto,,  except  the  fitful  wind  outside.  But  her  ears 
now  caught  a sound  within — slight,  but  sudden.  She  moved 
near  her  door,  and  heard  the  sweep  of  something  on  the 
matting  outside.  It  came  closer,  and  paused.  Then  it 
began  again,  and  seemed  to  sweep  away  from  her.  Then 
it  approached,  and  paused  as  it  had  done  before.  Esther 
listened,  wondering.  The  same  thing  happened  again  and 
again,  till  she  could  bear  it  no  longer.  She  opened  the 
door,  and  in  the  dim  light  of  the  corridor,  where  the  glass 
above  seemed  to  make  a glimmering  sky,  she  saw  Mrs. 
Transome’s  tall  figure  pacing  slowly,  with  her  cheek  upon 
her  hand, 

CHAPTER  L. 

The  great  question  in  life  is  the  suffering  we  cause  : and  the  utmost  ingenuity  of 
metaphysics  cannot  justify  the  man  who  has  pierced  the  heart  that  loved  him. 

— Benjamin  Constant. 

When  Denner  had  gone  up  to  her  mistress’s  room  to 
dress  her  for  dinner,  she  had  found  her  seated  just  as  Har- 
old had  found  her,  only  with  eyelids  drooping  and  trem- 
bling over  slowly-rolling  tears — nay,  with  a face  in  which  every 
sensitive  feature,  every  muscle,  seeme^  to  be  quivering  with 
a silent  endurance  of  some  agony. 

Denner  went  and  stood  by  the  chair  a minute  without 
speaking,  only  laying  her  hand  gently  on  Mrs.  Transome’s. 
At  last  she  said  beseechingly,  “ Pray,  speak,  madam.  What 
has  happened  ? ” 

“ The  worst,  Denner-— the  worst.” 

“ You  are  ill.  Let  me  undress  you,  and  put  you  to  bed.” 

“ No,  I am  not  ill.  I am  not  going  to  die  ! I shall  live — 
I shall  live  !” 

“ What  may  I do  ? ” 

“ Go  and  say  I shall  not  dine.  Then  you  may  come  back, 
if  you  will.” 

The  patient  waiting- woman  came  back  and  sat  by  her 
mistress  in  motionless  silence.  Mrs.  Transome  would  not 


412 


FELIX  HOLT, 


let  her  dress  be  touched,  and  waved  away  all  proffers  with’, 
a slight  movement  of  her  hand.  Denner  dared  not  even 
light  a candle  without  being  told.  At  last,  when  the  evening ; 
was  far  gone,  Mrs.  Transome  said  : 

“Go  down,  Denner,  and  find  out  where  Harold  is,  and 
come  back  and  tell  me.” 

“Shall  I ask  him  to  come  to  you,  madam  ?’r 
“ No  ; don’t  dare  to  do  it,  if  you  love  me.  Come  back.” 
Denner  brought  word  that  Mr.  Harold  was  in  hiis  study, 
and  that  Miss  Lyon  was  with  him.  He  had  not  dined,  but 
had  sent  later  tg  ask  Miss  Lyon  to  go  into  his  study.. 

“ Light  the  candles  and  leave  me.” 

“ Mayn’t  I come  again  ? ” 

“ No.  It  may  be  that  my  son  will  come  to  me.” 

“ Mayn’t  I sleep  on  the  little  bed  in  your  bedroom  ?” 

“ No,  good  Denner  ; I am  not  ill.  You  can’t  help  me,”' 
“ That’s  the  hardest  word  of  all,  madam.” 

“ The  time  will  come — but  not  now.  Kiss  me.  Now  go.”’ 
The  small  quiet  old  woman  obeyed,  as  she  had  always; 
done.  She  shrank  from  seeming  to  claim  an  equal’s  share 
in  her  mistress’s  sorrow. 

For  two  hours  Mrs.  Transome’s  mind  hung  on  what  was 
hardly  a hope — hardly  more  than  the  listening  for  a bare 
possibility.  She  began  to  create  the  sounds  that  her  anguish 
craved  to  hear — began  to  imagine  a footfall,  and  a hand- 
upon  the  door.  Then,  checked  by  continual  disappoint- 
ment, she  tried  to  rouse  a truer  consciousness  by  rising  from 
her  seat  and  walking  to  her  window,  where  she  saw  streaks 
of  light  moving  and  disappearing  on  the  grass,  and  heard 
the  sound  of  bolts  and  closing  doors.  She  hurried  away 
and  threw  herself  into  her  seat  again,  and  buried  her  head  in 
the  deafening  down  of  the  cushions.  There  was  no  sound 
of  comfort  to  her. 

Then  her  heart  cried  out  within  her  against  the  cruelty  of 
this  son.  When  he  turned  from  her  in  the  first  moment,  he 
had  not  had  time  to  feel  anything  but  the  blow  that  had 
fallen  on  himself.  But  afterward — was  it  possible  that  he 
should  not  be  touched  with  a son’s  pity — was  it  possible 
that  he  should  not  have  been  visited  by  some  thought  of  the 
long  years  through  which  she  had  suffered  ? The  memory 
of  those  years  came  back  to  her  now  with  a protest  against 
the  cruelty  that  had  all  fallen  on  her.  She  started  up  with 
a new  restlessness  from  this  spirit  of  resistance.  She  was 
not  penitent.  She  had  borne  too  hard  a punishment. 


THE  RADICAL. 


413 


Always  the  edge  of  calamity  had  fallen  on  htr.  Who  had  felt  for 
her  ? She  was  desolate.  God  had  no  pity,  else  her  son  would 
not  have  been  so  hard.  What  dreary  future  was  there  after  this 
dreary  past  ? She,  too,  looked  out  into  the  dim  night;  but  the 
black  boundary  of  trees  and  the  long  line  of  the  river  seemed 
only  part  of  the  loneliness  and  monotony  of  her  life. 

Suddenly  she  saw  a light  on  the  stone  balustrades  of  the 
balcony  that  projected  in  front  of  Esther’s  window,  and  the 
flash  of  a moving  candle  falling  on  a shrub  below.  Esther 
was  still  awake  and  up.  What  had  Harold  told  her — what 
had  passed  between  them  ? Harold  was  fond  of  this  young 
-creature,  who  had  been  always  sweet  and  reverential  to  her. 
'There  was  mercy  in  her  young  heart;  she  might  be  a daugh- 
ter who  had  no  impulse  to  punish  and  to  strike  her  whom 
: fate  had  stricken.  On  the  dim  loneliness  before  her  she 
: seemed  to  see  Esther’s  gentle  look;  it  was  possible  still  that 
the  misery  of  this  night  might  be  broken  by  some  comfort. 
‘The  proud  woman  yearned  for  the  carressing  pity  that  must 
‘dwell  in  that  young  bosdm.  She  opened  her  door  gently, 
ibut  when  she  had  reached  Esther’s  she  hesitated.  She  had 
inever  yet  in  her  life  asked  for  compassion — had  never 
thrown  herself  in  faith  on  an  unproffered  love.  And  she 
might  have  gone  on  pacing  the  corridor  like  an  uneasy  spirit 
without  a goal,  if  Esther’s  thought,  leaping  toward  her,  had 
not  saved  her  from  the  need  to  ask  admission. 

Mrs.  Transome  was  walking  toward  the  door  when  it 
opened.  As  Esther  saw  that  image  of  restless  misery,  it 
blent  itself  by  a rapid  flash  with  all  that  Harold  had  said  in 
the  evening.  She  divined  that  the  son’s  new  trouble 
must  be  one  with  the  mother’s  long  sadness.  But  there  was 
no  waiting.  In  an  instant  Mrs.  Transome  felt  Esther’s  arm 
round  her  neck,  and  a voice  saying  softly — 

“ Oh,  why  didn’t  you  call  me  before  ? ” 

They  turned  hand  and  hand  into  the  room,  and  sat  down 
on  a sofa  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  The  disordered  gray  hair 
— the  haggard  face— the  reddened  eyelids  under  which  the 
tears  seemed  to  be  coming  again  with  pain,  pierced  Esther 
to  the  heart.  A passionate  desire  to  soothe  this  suffering 
woman  came  over  her.  She  clung  round  her  again,  and 
kissed  her  poor  quivering  lips  and  eyelids,  and  laid  her 
young  cheek  against  the  pale  and  haggard  one.  Words 
could  not  be  quick  or  strong  enough  to  utter  her  yearning. 
As  Mrs.  Transome  felt  that  soft  clinging,  she  said — 

“ God  has  some  pity  on  me.” 


4i4 


FELIX  HOLT, 


“ Rest  on  my  bed,”  said  Esther.  “You  are  so  tired.  I 
will  cover  you  up  warmly,  and  then  you  will  sleep. ” 

“ No — tell  me,  dear — tell  me  what  Harold  said.” 

“ That  he  has  had  some  new  trouble.” 

“ He  said  nothing  hard  about  me  ? ” 

“ No — nothing.  He  did  not  mention  you.” 

“ I have  been  an  unhappy  woman,  dear.” 

“ I feared  it,”  said  Esther,  pressing  her  gently. 

“ Men  are  selfish.  They  are  selfish  and  cruel.  What  they 
care  for  is  their  own  pleasure  and  their  own  pride.” 

“ Not  all,”  said  Esther,  on  whom  these  words  fell  with  a 
painful  jar. 

“All  I have  ever  loved,”  said  Mrs.  Transome.  She  paused 
a moment  or  two,  and  then  said,  “ For  more  than  twenty 
years  I have  not  had  an  hour’s  happiness.  Harold  knows 
it,  and  yet  he  is  hard  to  me.” 

“ He  will  not  be.  To-morrow  he  will  not  be.  I am  sure 
he  will  be  good,”  said  Esther,  pleadingly.  “Remember — 
he  said  to  me  his  trouble  was  new — he  has  not  had  time.” 
“ It  is  too  hard  to  bear,  dear,”  Mrs.  Transome  said,  a new 
sob  rising  as  she  clung  fast  to  Esther  in  return.  “ I am  old, 
and  expect  so  little  now — a very  little  thing  would  seem 
great.  Why  should  I be  punished  any  more  ? ” 

Esther  found  it  difficult  to  speak.  The  dimly-suggested 
tragedy  of  this  woman’s  life,  the  dreary  waste  of  years  empty 
of  sweet  trust  and  affection,  afflicted  her  even  to  horror.  It 
seemed  to  have  come  as  a last  vision  to  urge  her  toward  the 
life  where  the  draughts  of  joy  sprang  from  the  unchanging 
fountains  of  reverence  and  devout  love. 

But  all  the  more  she  longed  to  still  the  pain  of  this  heart 
that  beat  against  hers. 

“ Do  let  me  go  to  your  own  room  with  you,  and  let  me 
undress  you,  and  let  me  tend  upon  you,”  she  said,  with  a 
woman’s  gentle  instinct.  “ It  will  be  a very  great  thing  to 
,me.  I shall  seem  to  have  a mother  again.  Do  let  me.” 
Mrs.  Transome  yielded  at  last,  and  let  Esther  soothe  her 
with  a daughter’s  tendance.  She  was  undressed  and  went  to 
bed  ; and  at  last  dozed  fitfully,  with  frequent  starts.  But 
Esther  watched  by  her  till  the  chills  of  morning  came,  and 
then  she  only  wrapped  more  warmth  around  her,  and  slept 
fast  in  the  chair  till  Denner’s  movement  in  the  room  roused 
her.  She  started  out  of  a dream  in  which  she  was  telling 
Felix  what  had  happened  to  her  that  night. 

Mrs.  Transome  was  now  in  the  sounder  morning  sleep 


THE  RADICAL. 


4IS 


which  sometimes  comes  after  a long  night  of  misery.  Esther 
beckoned  Denner  into  the  dressing-room,  and  said  : 

“ It  is  late,  Mrs.  Hickes.  Do  you  think  Mr.  Harold  is  out 
of  his  room  ? ” 

“ Yes,  a long  while;  he  was  out  earlier  than  usual. 

“ Will  you  ask  him  to  come  up  here  ? Say  I begged  you.” 
When  Harold  entered  Esther  was  leaning  against  the  back 
of  the  empty  chair  where  yesterday  he  had  seen  his  mother 
sitting.  He  was  in  a state  of  wonder  and  suspense,  and 
when  Esther  approached  him  and  gave  him  her  hand,  he 

said,  in  a startled  way — . . 

“ Good  God  ! how  ill  you  look  ! Have  you  been  sitting  up 

with  my  mother  ? ” , , 

“Yes.  She  is  asleep  now,”  said  Esther.  They  had  merely 
pressed  hands  by  way  of  greeting,  and  now  stood  apart  look- 
ing at  each  other  solemnly. 

“ Has  she  told  you  anything?”  said  Harold. 

“ No,  only  that  she  is  wretched.  Oh,  I think  I would  bear 
a great  deal  of  unhappiness  to  save  her  from  having  any  more. 

A painful  thrill  passed  through  Harold,  and  showed  itself 
in  his  face  with  that  pale  rapid  flash  which  can  never  be 
painted.  Esther  pressed  her  hands  together,  and  said, 
timidly,  though  it  was  from  an  urgent  prompting— 

“ There  is  nothing  in  all  this  place— nothing  since  ever  I 
came  here— I could  care  for  so  much  as  that  you  should  sit 
down  by  her  now, and  that  she  should  see  you  when  she  wakes.” 
Then  with  delicate  instinct,  she  added,  just  laying  her  hand 
on  his  sleeve,  “ I know  you  would  have  come.  I know  you 
meant  it.  But  she  is  asleep  now.  Go  gently  before  she  wakes. 

Harold  just  laid  .his  right  hand  for  an  instant  on  the  back 
of  Esther’s  as  it  rested  on  his  sleeve,  and  then  stepped  softly 
to  his  mother’s  bedside. 

An  hour  afterward,  when  Harold  had  laid  his  mother  s 
pillow  afresh,  and  sat  down  again  by  her,  she  said— 

“ If  that  dear  thing  will  marry  you,  Harold,  it  will  make 
up  to  you  for  a great  deal.’’ 

But  before  the  day  closed  Harold  knew  that  this  was  not 
to  be.  That  young  presence,  which  had  flitted  like  a white 
new-winged  dove  over  all  the  saddening  relics  and  new  finery 
of  Transome  Court,  could  not  find  its  home  there.  Harold 
heard  from  Esther’s  lips  that  she  loved  some  one  else,  and 
that  she  resigned  all  claim  to  the  Transome  estates. 

She  wished  to  go  back  to  her  father. 


4i6 


FELIX  HOLT, 

CHAPTER  LI. 

The  maiden  said,  I v/is  the  londe 
. Is  very  fair  to  see, 

B ut  my  true-love  that  is  in  bonde 
Is  fairer  Still  to  me. 

One  April  day,  when  the  sun  shone  on  the  lingering  rain- 
drops, Lyddy  was  gone  out,  and  Esther  chose  to  sit  in  the 
kitchen,  in  the  wicker-chair  against  the  white  table,  between 
the  fire  and  the  window.  The  kettle  was  singing,  and  the 
clock  was  ticking  steadily  toward  four  o’clock. 

She  was  not  reading,  but  stitching  ; and  as  her  fingers 
moved  nimbly,  something  played  about  her  parted  lips  like 
a ray.  Suddenly  she  laid  down  her  work,  pressed  her  hands 
together  on  her  knees,  and  bent  forward  a little.  The  next 
moment  there  came  a loud  rap  at  the  door.  She  started  up 
and  opened  it,  but  kept  herself  hidden  behind  it. 

“ Mr.  Lyon  at  home?”  said  Felix,  in  his  firm  tones. 

“ No,  sir,”  said  Esther  from  behind  her  screen  ; “ but  Miss 
Lyon  is,  if  you’ll  please  to  walk  in.” 

“ Esther  ! ” exclaimed  Felix,  amazed. 

They  held  each  other  by  both  hands,  and  looked  into 
<each  other’s  faces  with  delight. 

“You  are  out  of  prison  ?” 

“ Yes,  till  I do  something  bad  again.  But  you? — how  is 
lit  all  ? ” 

“ Oh,  it  is,”  said  Esther,  smiling  brightly  as  she  moved 
‘toward  the  wicker  chair,  and  seated  herself  again,  “ that 
• everything  is  as  usual  : my  father  is  gone  to  see  the  sick  ; 
ILyddy  is  gone  in  deep  despondency  to  buy  the  grocery  ; and 
j I am  sitting  here,  with  some  vanity  in  me,  needing  to  be 
fscolded.” 

Felix  had  seated  himself  on  a chair  that  happened  to  be 
near  her,  at  the  corner  of  the  table.  He  looked  at  her  still 
with  questioning  eyes — he  grave,  she  mischievously  smiling. 

“ Are  you  come  back  to  live  here  then  ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“You  are  not  going  to  be  married  to  Harold  Transome, 
or  to  be  rich  ? ” 

“ No.”  Something  made  Esther  take  up  her  work  again, 
and  begin  to  stitch.  The  smiles  were  dying  into  a tremor. 

“ Why  ?”  said  Felix,  in  rather  a low  tone,  leaning  his 
elbow  on  the  table,  and  resting  his  head  on  his  hand  while 
he  looked  at  her. 

“ I did  not  wish  to  marry  him,  or  to  be  rich.” 

“You  have  given  it  all  up?”  said  Felix,  leaning  forward. 


THE  RADICAL. 


417 


a little,  and  speaking  in  a still  lower  tone.  Esther  did  not 
speak.  They  heard  the  kettle  singing  and  the  clock  loudly 
ticking.  There  was  no  knowing  how  it  was  : Esther’s  work 
fell,  their  eyes  met ; and  the  next  instant  their  arms  were 
round  each  other’s  necks,  and  once  more  they  kissed  each 
other. 

When  their  hands  fell  again,  their  eyes  were  bright  with 
tears.  Felix  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

“ Could  you  share  the  life  of  a poor  man,  then,  Esther  ? ” 

“ If  I thought  well  enough  of  him,”  she  said,  the  smile 
coming  again,  with  the  pretty  saucy  movement  of  her  head. 

“ Have  you  considered  well  what  it  would  be  ? — -that  it 
would  be  a very  bare  and  simple  life  ? ” 

“Yes — without  attaa  of  rose*.” 

Felix  suddenly  removed  his  hand  from  her  shoulder,  rose 
from  his  chair,  and  walked  a step  or  two  ; then  he  turned 
round  and  said,  with  deep  gravity — 

“And  the  people  I shall  live  among,  Esther  ? They  have 
not  just  the  same  follies  and  vices  as  the  rich,  but  they  have 
their  own  forms  of  folly  and  vice  ; and  they  have  not  what 
are  called  the  refinements  of  the  rich  to  make  their  faults 
more  bearable.  I don’t  say  more  bearable  to  me — I’m  not 
fond  of  those  refinements;  but  you  are.” 

Felix  paused  an  instant,  and  then  added— 

“ It  is  very  serious,  Esther.” 

“ I know  it  is  serious,”  said  Esther,  looking  up  at  him. 
“Since  I have  been  at  Transome  Court  I have  seen  many 
things  very  seriously.  If  I had  not,  I should  not  have  left 
what  I did  leave.  I made  a deliberate  choice.” 

Felix  stood  a moment  or  two,  dwelling  on  her  with  a face 
where  the  gravity  gathered  tenderness. 

“And  these  curls?”  he  said,  with  a sort  of  relenting,  seat- 
ing himself  again,  and  putting  his  hand  on  them. 

“They  cost  nothing — they  are  natural.” 

“ You  are  such  a delicate  creature.” 

“ I am  very  healthy.  Poor  women,  I think,  are  healthier 
than  the  rich.  Besides,”  Esther  went  on,  with  a mischievous 
meaning,  “I  think  of  having  some  wealth.” 

“ How  ? ” said  Felix,  with  an  anxious  start.  “What  do 
you  mean  ? ” 

“ I think  even  of  two  pounds  a week  : one  needn’t  live  up 
to  the  splendor  of  all  that,  you  know  ; we  might  live  as 
simply  as  you  liked  : there  would  be  money  to  spare,  and 
you  could  do  wonders,  and  be  obliged  to  work  too,  only  not 


4i  8 


FELIX  HOLT, 


if  sickness  came.  And  then  I think  of  a little  income  for 
your  mother,  enough  for  her  to  live  as  she  has  been  used  to 
live  ; and  a little  income  for  my  father,  to  save  him  from 
being  dependent  when  he  is  no  longer  able  to  preach.” 

Esther  said  all  this  in  a playful  tone,  but  she  ended,  with 
a grave  look  of  appealing  submission 

“ I mean — if  you  approve.  I wish  to  do  what  you  think 
it  will  be  right  to  do.” 

Felix  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder  again  and  reflected- a 
little  while,  looking  on  the  hearth  : then  he  said,  lifting  up 
his  eyes,  with  a smile  at  her 

“ Why,  I shall  be  able  to  set  up  a great  library,  and  lend 
the  books  to  be  dog’s-eared  and  marked  with  bread- 
crumbs.” 

Esther  said,  laughing,  “ You  think  you  are  to  be  every- 
thing. You  don’t  know  how  clever  I am.  I mean  to  go  on 
teaching  a great  many  things.” 

“ Teaching  me  ? ” 

“Oh,  yes,”  she  said,  with  a little  toss  ; “ I shall  improve 
your  French  accent.” 

“ You  won’t  want  me  to  wear  a stock,”,  said  Felix,  with  a 
defiant  shake  of  the  head. 

“ No  ; and  you  will  not  attribute  stupid  thoughts  to  me 
before  Eve  uttered  them.” 

They  laughed  merrily,  each  holding  the  other’s  arms, 
like  girl  and  boy.  There  was  the  ineffable  sense  of  youth 
in  common. 

Then  Felix  leaned  forward, that  their  lips  might  meet  again, 
and  after  that  his  eyes  roved  tenderly  over  her  face  and 
curls. 

“ I’m  a rough,  severe  fellow,  Esther.  Shall  you  never  re- 
pent ? — never  be  inwardly  reproaching  me  that  I was  not 
a man  who  could  have  shared  your  wealth  ? Are  you  quite 
sure  ?” 

“Quite  sure  ! ” said  Esther,  shaking  her  head  ; “for  then 
I should  have  honored  you  less.  I am  weak — my  husband 
must  be  greater  and  nobler  than  I am.” 

“Oh,  I tell  you  what,  though!  ” said  Felix,  starting  up, 
thrusting  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and  creasing  his  brow 
playfully,  “ if  you  take  me  in  that  way  I shall  be  forced  to 
be  a much  better  fellow  than  I ever  thought  of  being.” 

“ I call  that  retribution,”  said  Esther,  with  a laugh  as 
sweet  as  the  morning  thrush. 


THE  RADICAL. 


419 


EPILOGUE. 

Our  finest  hope  is  finest  memory  ; 

And  those  who  love  in  age  think  youth  is  happy, 

Because  it  has  a life  to  fill  with  love. 

The  very  next  May, Felix  and  Esther  were  married.  Every 
one  in  those  days  was  married  at  the  parish  church ; but  Mr. 
Lyon  was  not  satisfied  without  an  additional  private  solem- 
nity, “ wherein  there  was  no  bondage  to  questionable  forms, 
so  that  he  might  have  a more  enlarged  utterance  of  joy  and 
supplication.” 

It  was  a very  simple  wedding  ; but  no  wedding,  even  the 
gayest,  ever  raised  so  much  interest  and  debate  in  Treby 
Magna.  Even  very  great  people,  like  Sir  Maximus  and  his 
family,  went  to  the  church  to  look  at  this  bride,  who  had 
renounced  wealth,  and  chosen  to  be  the  wife  of  a man  who 
said  he  would  always  be  poor. 

Some  few  shook  their  heads  ; could  not  quite  believe  it  ; 
and  thought  there  was  “ more  behind.”  But  the  majority 
of  honest  Trebians  were  affected  somewhat  in  the  same  way 
as  happy-looking  Mr/  Wace  was,  who  observed  to  his  wife, 
as  they  walked  from  under  the  churchyard  chestnuts,  “ It’s 
wonderful  how  things  go  through  you — you  don’t  know 
how.  I feel  somehow  as  if  I believed  more  in  everything 
that’s  good.” 

Mrs.  Holt,  that  day,  said  she  felt  herself  to  be  receiving 
“ some  reward,”  implying  that  justice  certainly  had  much 
more  in  reserve.  Little  Job  Tudge  had  an  entirely  new  suit, 
of  which  he  fingered  every  separate  brass  button  in  a way 
that  threatened  an  arithmetical  mania  ; and  Mrs.  Holt  had 
out  her  best  tea-trays  and  put  down  her  carpet  again,  with 
the  satisfaction  of  thinking  that  there  would  no  more  be  boys 
coming  in  all  weathers  with  dirty  shoes. 

For  Felix  and  Esther  did  not  take  up  their  abode  in  Treby 
Magna  ; and  after  a while  Mr.  Lyon  left  the  town  too,  and 
joined  them  where  they  dwelt.  On  his  resignation  the 
church  in  Malthouse  Yard  chose  a successor  to  him  whose 
doctrine  was  rather  higher. 

There  were  other  departures  from  Treby.  Mr.  Jermyn’s 
establishment  was  broken  up,  and  he  was  understood  to  have 
gone  to  reside  at  a great  distance  : some  said  “ abroad,”  that 
large  home  of  ruined  reputations.  Mr.  Johnson  continued 
blonde  and  sufficiently  prosperous  till  he  got  gray  and  rather 
more  prosperous.  Some  persons  who  did  not  think  highly 


420 


FELIX  HOLT, 


of  him,  held  that  his  prosperity  was  a fact  to  be  kept  in  the 
background,  as  being  dangerous  to  the  morals  of  the  young; 
judging  that  it  was  not  altogether  creditable  to  the  Divine 
Providence  that  anything  but  virtue  should  be  rewarded  by 
a front  and  back  drawing-room  in  Bedford  Row. 

As  for  Mr.  Christian,  he  had  no  more  profitable  secrets  at 
his  disposal.  But  he  got  his  thousand  pounds  from  Harold 
Tran  some. 

The  Transome  family  were  absent  some  time  from  Tran- 
some  Court.  The  place  was  kept  up  and  shown  to  visitors, 
but  not  by  Denner,  who  was  away  with  her  mistress.  After 
a while  the  family  came  back,  and  Mrs.  Transome  died 
there.  Sir  Maximus  was  at  her  funeral,  and  throughout 
that  neighborhood  there  was  silence  about  the  past. 

Uncle  Lingon  continued  to  watch  over  the  shooting  on  the 
Manor  and  the  covers  until  that  event  occurred  which  he 
had  predicted  as  apart  of  Church  reform  sure  to  come. 
Little  Treby  had  a new  rector,  but  others  were  sorry  besides 
the  old  pointers. 

As  to  all.  that  wide  parish  of  Treby  Magna,  it  has  since 
prospered  as  the  rest  of  England  has  prospered.  Doubtless 
there  is  more  enlightenment  now.  Whether  the  farmers  are  all 
public-spirited,  the  shopkeepers  nobly  independent,  the 
Sproxton  men  entirely  sober  and  judicious,  the  Dissent- 
ers quite  without  narrowness  or  asperity  in  religion  and  poli- 
tics, and  the  publicans  all  fit,  like  Gaius,  to  be  the  friends 
of  an  apostle — these  things  I have  not  heard,  not  having 
correspondence  in  those  parts.  Whether  any  presumption 
may  be  drawn  from  the  fact  that  North  Loamshire  does  not 
yet  return  a Radical  candidate,  I leave  to  the  all-wise — I 
mean  the  newspapers. 

As  to  the  town  in  which  Felix  Holt  now  resides,  I will, 
keep  that  a secret,  lest  he  should  be  troubled  by  any  visitor 
having  the  insufferable  motive  of  curiosity. 

I will  only  say  that  Esther  has  never  repented.  Felix, 
however,  grumbles  a little  that  she  has  made  his  life  too 
easy,  and  that,  if  it  were  not  for  much  walking,  he  should  be 
a sleek  dog. 

There  is  a young  Felix,  who  has  a great  deal  more  science 
than  his  father,  but  not  much  more  money. 


THE  END. 


